Review: Tantus Twist and Tantus Juice butt plugs

It took me a while to get to grips with butt plugs. I liked how they felt, somehow connecting with my clit – in the same way playing with my nipples does – but there was one of those embarrassing questions getting in the way:

Apparently it’s all about the neck. The slimmer the neck, the less your bottom’s being held open, the less chance of it pulsing, sliding, or popping out.

To this I’d add: try texture. Tantus butt plugs have a fairly wide neck, but the silicone surface and the non-diamond shaping help. The Tantus Juice still has a habit of making a break for it as I orgasm, but the Tantus Twist does not budge once it’s settled in.

Tantus Twist and Tantus Juice butt plugs

The T-bar bases make them incredibly comfortable too; as well being nervous about having a hairy bum, I’m also prone to spots. One or two of the plugs I have with round bases – particularly the one with the pretty, but rigid, jewel base – catch and irritate those spots.

I know, sexy.

But the T-bars are neat and soft with not a hint of a defined edge. It actually took getting high-res photos of them for this review for me to see the seams.

The result of this incredibly smooth and rounded construction is that wearing either plug for several hours is entirely possible, and a little more interesting with the Twist. I’m aware of its ins and outs the whole time I’m wearing it, usually in a rather pleasant way. Meanwhile I don’t know how different the Juice would feel from the straightforward Neo; the grooves seem quite understated, and I don’t feel particularly aware of any extra sensation.

The bars also allow for experimentation when using a vibrator – touch it to the ends of the bar for a gentle buzz, move it further towards the centre and the stem for much more intense stimulation.

Tantus Juice butt plug, T-bar and head

I love doing this with the Juice. The sensations range from “mmmm” when playing around the edges or using the lower settings of the Lelo Smart Wand, up to “holy fuck!” when I move up or in a few notches. And while I’ve pretty much given up on internal vibrations – they’re very rarely strong enough, or focused in the right place, or they get drowned out by the vibration of whichever wand I’m using – when I’m wearing the Juice, it’s worth the effort, because that sensation travels through the back wall of my vagina to give a subtle boost to the plug.

The smooth shape – the gentle curve instead of the more traditional diamond shape – really lends itself to play with other toys. I’ve used the Humdinger, the Fun Factory G4 Tiger, the Tantus Echo – and while the slimmer toys have been more successful (hurrah, I’m not a gaping cavern after all!) it’s more a case of finding the right angle to accommodate both dildo and Juice.

The one problem I have with the Juice is that once I start to come, it goes. There’s no room for edging and holding back for a more intense orgasm; the first hint of a contraction and the velvety smoothness of the silicone and the grooves cease to hold it in place, and my arse pushes it out with gusto.

Tantus Twist from aboveI told you, sexy.

Because of the much more pronounced shape, the Tantus Twist stays put no matter what. But while it giveth it also takes away: it doesn’t play as well with others. You may have noticed that I like texture; most of my toys have some form of ripple, raised pattern or interesting shape.

This sets them up quite nicely for a clash with the screw thread pattern of the Twist. Even the slender, smooth backed FSoG Drive Me Crazy rubs uncomfortably against the narrower, more ridged back wall of my vagina. The only dildo I’ve found to be truly comfortable with the Twist is the Lovehoney G-spot.

But as long as I go with this combination, it adds an enjoyable extra intensity to proceedings. The texture may be in a different location than I’d usually choose, but it makes up a little for the fact that my G-spot and I aren’t as friendly as we were.

There’ll be a trick to taking it out that I haven’t got wise to yet, as bearing down and giving it a little twist isn’t quite enough to free it easily. But cleaning it is a breeze. Yes, the screw threads are deep, but they’re smooth; there are no sharp delineations as with the Tantus Splash, so there’s no need for lots of careful scrubbing. Hot soapy water and the job’s done.

Tantus Twist butt plug T-bar

Both are fantastic for wearing during the day or evening for a bit of hidden thrill. The Twist excels at this, giving plenty of purchase and providing the same kind of heightened but enjoyable awareness a good set of kegel balls does.

Which is better for play during sex or masturbation depends on what else you like – for me, never patient once I get revved up, the Juice edges it even though it doesn’t let me edge.

The Juice was provided to me by Tantus, free of charge in exchange for an honest, unbiased review; I bought the Twist from Lovehoney back when it was still in stock.

Review: Tantus Tsunami vibrating dildo

I am so relieved. I thought I was going to have to write a bad review of the Tantus Tsunami – a toy that looks like it should be perfect for me. It’s got bumps – front and back! It’s got a curve to accommodate G-spotting! It’s got length! And yet after making a really positive first impression, it rapidly became… upsetting.

The Tsunami resembles an ergonomic moulded-to-fit-the-fingers bicycle handlebar grip, with a shaft of about seven inches long and an inch and a half thick at its widest.

Tantus Tsunami in full

It’s the slightly tacky, beautifully shiny, Tantus silicone, and it has a seriously thick base that not only makes it harness compatible but much more stable than the Splash when standing on anything less level than a bedside table.

It comes in three colours: Strawberry, Purple Haze, and Midnight Purple (iridiscent indgo). Tantus sent me the PINK!! one.

I was dreading trying to write it up. I’ve never written a completely bad review in my relatively short blogging life, but I’d tried and tried and couldn’t work out what was wrong.

It filled me, the rear ridges felt good, the curved shaft allows for G-spot manipulation without being in your face, and those front contours – well, they’re my kind of thing.

It excited me – but then after that… It became frustrating, and incredibly hard work. No matter how much I thrust, how fast, how hard, how deep, I couldn’t quite crest the wave that was building.

What was worse, the texture make it somewhat girthy, and the effort I had to put in left me feeling a little numb. Switching to another, more reliable toy to give me the relief I was craving just left me feeling cavernous and irritated instead.

The Tsunami left me high and dry.

It was a horrible reminder of days past when I’d get turned on but then get no further.

But it turns out there are two kinds of experience I can have with the Tsunami. There’s the am-I-doing-this-right version (I wasn’t), where I end up frustrated and desperate for release but having to fight for it every step of the way, and there’s the Level 3 orgasmic where-did-that-come-from shock and awe version that leaves me giggling for as long as it took me to write the first draft of this next part of the review.

Tantus Tsunami close-up detail

Admittedly I hadn’t masturbated for about a week, but that usually has the result of leaving me a little out of practise, in need of a good orgasm but also needing to wake the relevant parts of myself up again.

I was also having a period.

I wear a menstrual cup most months, and thanks to a variety of factors I’m no longer suffering from periods that wake me up at least once a night, and early hours, to empty cups and replace pads – or that even show a trace when I amble to the loo after putting the kettle on of a much more relaxed morning. So with a mug of tea in my paws, I ambled back to bed feeling horny and figuring it was time to give the Tsunami another go, completely forgetting there was a silicone cup nestling inside me.

It was only when I realised there was a significant amount of dildo still outside me, and that it didn’t want to go in any further that I remembered. I had half a mind to disrupt proceedings, to go and remove said cup, but then I also realised I was feeling some rather delightful sensations with the cup and dildo exactly where they were. Just the slightest tug back and forth, and I was mewing. Then groaning. Then wailing like a police car. I hadn’t even switched to a stronger clitoral vibrator, which I usually need to do.

It was so quick and unexpected I wasn’t entirely sure I’d actually come, especially as my mind was still chuntering away with itself about whether or not to go and remove the menstrual cup and so on. But my clit was suddenly immensely sensitive and screaming for relief from the vibrator, and I was giggling in a way I haven’t for quite a while.

I hadn’t even got through the second song on my playlist.

This clearly required further testing.

So I did it again the next morning. Threw in a few more obstacles: made myself hold back a little – which, ironically, resulted in me needing to get out the Lovehoney Magic Wand – but still, BAM! Practically no effort required, and fits of laughter once more.

Admittedly, some of that laughter was sheer relief at having a couple of orgasms in a couple of days after neglecting myself a little, and some of it was laughing at myself for being such a ridiculous giggler. But those first 30 seconds of exultant cackling? The Tsunami.

Tantus Tsunami pointing slightly downwards

As with all Tantus toys sold as vibrators, it’s a solid silicone toy with a hollow in the base for an RO-80mm bullet vibrator. While I’m learning how to make them work for me (I have thoughts of trying to rig two together a bit like a body-less rabbit for the ultimate self-tease), the dense silicone of a dildo deadens the vibration significantly.

The tip of a fully inserted bullet is about level with the lowest of the front peaks. That means just the top half inch – if that – of the vibrator is in the part of the dildo I’m using, and it’s pretty much wasted. If you need to take more of the Tsunami’s length to benefit from the ridges, the vibrator might be more useful; to me it’s unnecessary, but it’s good to have another spare.

The trick, then, for me at least, is not to be greedy.

It wasn’t like I was denying myself much – I still took a good five inches of the shaft. I just didn’t need the bottom inch and a half; insisting on taking it all previously simply moved the effective parts of the dildo too far inside me to have any effect (note to self: just because you can fit the whole thing in your vagina, that doesn’t mean you have to).

I was all ready to write a slightly mournful, puzzled, concerned review. I’m so glad I didn’t have to – and thank you, Tantus, for sending me the Tsunami to review.

Sinful Sunday: The Sock Drawer

 

I suffer from cold feet. I have to wear at least two pairs of socks for most of the year; I still am now, as we move into the second half of May.

To keep up with the wearing and washing, I own a lot of pairs. A month’s worth of pretty knickers, spare hair bands, a bullet vibrator or two fit with room to spare in my top bedside drawer. But I have sock overspill; there are almost always several pairs sitting neatly folded on the shelf above the radiator, waiting to be squeezed back in their allotted  drawer.

S0 quite why I’d choose it as overflow space for my growing collection of sex toys – especially the slightly grabby silicone dildos – I don’t know. Like certain jumpers seem to attract all the hair I moult to the armpit area, Tantus dildos collect fibres from even the least fluffy of my socks.

The sock drawer

But the sock drawer makes a beautifully protective environment for my FSoG Drive Me Crazy.

Who else is playing this weekend? Click on the kiss:

Sinful Sunday

Cerulean

It’s funny: when you tell people you’re trying to lose weight, they all start trying to feed you up. That you’re not drinking for a while, suddenly everyone who owes you a pint is keen to make good on their debt.

Cerulean blue PB35, photo by Stephzzz

Cerulean blue PB35, photo by Stephzzz

Fortunately, I wanted to write more, so I’ve been very happy to see numerous challenges cropping up.

Exhibit Unadorned‘s flash fiction challenge is based on a list of Jade A Waters‘s favourite words, and for those of us crippled by totally unnecessary indecision, he’s been assigning  words as prompts.

He gave me Cerulean.


It had been calling out to her from the shop window for weeks now. It shimmered, like a peacock’s tail, with hints of other colours seeming to come from deep within rather than simply being the result of the changing light and reflections of passers-by.

Hayley had found herself alternately drawn in and shying away from the window whenever she passed – awkward as she went by twice a day on the way to and from work. The first time she’d seen it in the corner of her eye, arranged artfully on a plain, matt black, silk display, she’d only really noticed the colour. Walking back that night, she’d stopped briefly to look more closely. The workmanship was obvious, the care and attention to detail screaming quality and a price tag to match. She knew then, without looking that it would cost more than she could ever really justify. And in a moment of weakness, boredom – and possible stupidity – at work one day, Hayley had gone looking online and had hopes of which she wasn’t aware dashed and her suspicions confirmed. It would wipe out her – she laughed at the term – disposable income for months to come, and there were far more pressing purchases looking likely in the near future.

But after a string of horrific days in the office, she decided she needed a pick-me up. It had been far too long since she’d treated herself, and surely she could cope with living on porridge and baked beans for a week or so if it meant owning such a thing of beauty. Just looking at it made her sigh.

The weather was wet and blustery, not at all like the previous spring evenings that had seen folk spilling out of bars and pubs onto the street. People had their heads down and were marching unseeingly through the rain, determined to get away from work and the weather in equal parts.

The window, for those who paused a moment, had a decadent, lustrous, welcoming warmth to it.

Hayley smiled and felt her stomach flip simultaneously, pushed upon the door, and stepped into a den of dark wine walls picked out with bronze highlights, subtle lighting and display cases full of desire.

Up close, the dildo was all the more beautiful. The sheen was deceptive, the material feeling almost velvety under her fingers. The undulations along its length added further facets to the sky-whale-petrol-teal colour. Hayley could swear it was glowing from within.

“We’ve got it in pink too,” the assistant said, as Hayley turned it in her hands, “but everyone here loves this colour. It’s got a funny name… oh, it was in that film-“

Her colleague looked up from where she was tapping at a screen behind the counter, caught sight of the toy, and nodded in agreement. “The Devil Wears Prada!” she chirped. “Like the jumper!”

Making any kind of connection between the length of silicone in her hands and a purposely scruffy jumper worn by Anne Hathaway seemed like something of an insult to Hayley, but she knew immediately what the assistants were referring to.

“Cerulean,” she murmured. The word suited it.

**

The assistant asked if she wanted it wrapped.

Hayley said no, but paying and getting it bagged still seemed to take forever.

First it went into its padded, millimetres-thick box with the slight grosgrain texture, then that was slipped inside a further, thinner, glossy illustrated box with ends in the same beautiful tone as the toy. Hayley would have gladly taken that, handed over her card, and bolted.

But then there was the heavyweight black paper bag with the bronze detail in the lower corner, and a sticker bearing the shop’s logo placed just so across the lips of the bag, to prevent anyone who shouldn’t see catching a peek. Hayley had kept smiling, but when the assistant produced the bronze wire ribbon from beneath the counter, she had to fight to keep a groan of impatience from escaping.

The card machine couldn’t have worked fast enough either.

Part of Hayley had wanted to keep looking at her new toy, touching it, sharing the love with the girls in the shop, who were clearly as excited as she was about the sale but also seemed – sad? – to see it go.

But now it was safely packed away for the journey home, she wanted to get there, to rip into the packaging and get to enjoy it all over again, for herself this time. Not like that! Well, yes, like that. But not until she’d had the chance to admire it some more, properly, without having to drag herself away for whatever reason.

She wanted to savour.

**

There was half a bottle of something pink in the fridge. Hayley tucked it under her arm, grabbed a clean glass from the draining board – a tumbler, but it would do – and headed for her room.

Putting the bottle down on her dressing table and dropping the bag on the floor temporarily, she shrugged off her coat, shucked off her boots and poured a good four fingers of suspect zinfandel. She picked the bag up only long enough to pull at the ribbon and sticker and rescue the box, before  practically skipping to her bed.

Sitting at the front of her bedside drawer like it was used far more frequently was a bottle of lube. It took up prime position next to the glass of wine. She pulled off her jumper, undid the top few buttons of her shirt, and ran her fingers over the revealed skin.

A sip of wine and she turned her attention to the dildo’s outer box, carefully tugging the flap open and shaking it slightly to release the luxury cardboard. It slid out slowly, landing in her lap. She noticed the embossed logo in the centre, slightly glossy compared to the beautiful matt texture of the card surrounding it.

Prising the lid off, her eyes widened at the sight of the dildo, looking like it had grown in the past 30 minutes, and she grinned. She gazed at it lovingly, ran a finger across its surface and the velvety padding it was nestled in. Then she reached for her wine and made herself comfortable.

Half-propped up by her pillows, skirt pulled up to her waist, she ran a hand over her tights and knickers, following the contours of her body between her legs. Her pussy pulsed gently with anticipation as her fingertips brushed the cotton, her index and third fingers sweeping out to stroke the sensitive creases between her legs and body. Her middle finger traced where her lips met, covered in two layers of fabric but still responding to her touch. Pausing ever so slightly as her fingers moved back up, over her clit, the briefest thrill.

She took a swig of wine, carefully put the glass back on the bedside table. Her tights had to go, but she was too impatient, too keen to touch herself again, to completely remove them. She was left with one hanging from her calf as she returned to her main focus; her two fingers circled gently, grazing the lips above her clit, the featherlight touch enough to start the delicious ache inside her, to start a fluttering sensation behind and in her breasts.

Hayley sighed, closed her eyes in pleasure, felt for the dildo nestled in its box beside her. Not yet. But she wanted to feel it, tease herself with it like a lover would tease her.

She slipped her hand beneath her knickers now, circling incrementally faster, harder, her middle finger pushing between her lips to stimulate the bud below – but still as slowly and gently as she could bear.

She brought the dildo across, trailed it over her thigh and her knickers, up to her belly, resting its curves on hers. Lifting herself just enough to slide her knickers clear, she reached again for the toy, tracing the path her other hand had taken earlier as it continued to play, rubbing slightly harder, slightly faster. She paused with it just outside her entrance, the head nudging tantalisingly between her lips.

Her nerve endings were tingling, on fire, full of anticipation, the feathery feeling inside her breasts, the ache inside growing by the second, tempting her to plunge on.

Instead Hayley stopped completely. Feeling slightly lightheaded, she grabbed for the tumbler of wine like it was a support rail and took a gulp before reaching for the lube and squeezing a good dollop onto her fingers.

She slicked it over the dildo, adding an extra depth and sheen to the glorious colour and contours, then across her skin, through her dark curls, between her lips. She looked down her body, marvelling at the soft paleness of her skin, the contrast with the wiry hair, and the again with the rich, firm, vibrant blue of the dildo as she slid it home…

Cerulean dildo, very close up

The last night – a Giving Up competition entry

It’s been a long time since I’ve really tried to write any proper fiction on anywhere close to a semi-regular basis. I worked out a long time ago that I don’t have a novel in me, but occasionally I manage to knock out the odd short story or postcard from my imagination – given hours with a notebook and copious coffee and hot chocolate.

But after the #EuphOff I realised I’d let my fiction muscles get far too flabby. So when Sex Blog of sorts threw down the gauntlet with her Giving Up flash fiction competition, I figured it’d be an ideal kick up the backside. Homework with a deadline! I always used to be good at *that*.

So here it is. Enjoy.


Kiss me like a final meal
Kiss me like we die tonight
–  One Day Like This, Elbow

She’d known if she told him he’d make a fuss, try to make it something big and special. She just wanted to keep enjoying the moment, like she always had, without thinking ahead. So she’d purposely kept quiet, like this was any other night they’d been together.

She’d almost slipped on the walk home, glancing across at him and realising how little time they had; stopping sharp and yanking him around for a long, deep, searching kiss.

Now they were back in his flat and oh! she was edgy. She opened her mouth to say – something, she didn’t know what – but he swept in to kiss her.

She could feel the impressive bulge straining against his trousers; his hands slid around to her back then down, finding and undoing the zip of her skirt and pushing it past her hips. She shimmied so it dropped to the floor, leaving it pooled around her feet. One hand skimmed back up her body, gliding over her waist and back, making her shiver, coming to rest, tantalisingly, just under her bra clasp. His other hand smoothed over the fabric of her knickers, gently squeezing.

She pulled back for a moment to look at him again. She wouldn’t see this for so long…

He took advantage of the lull to pull at her top, tugging it over her head- and hesitating. Her arms over her head and her top acting as blindfold and restraint – and she heard him exhale appreciatively. His hand swept down the curve of her breasts before he bent to dip his head and nuzzle them.

At the same time he slipped his hand down the front of her knickers, curling his fingers slightly as they brushed her clit and lips, rubbing gently, setting off tiny tremors.

Losing patience, she finished pulling her top off, using her freed arms to grab his head and pull him back up to kiss like there was no tomorrow-

He responded exactly right, pulling her in a practiced tango to the bedroom. Clasping her face between his hands, he kissed her hard then pushed her onto the bed, climbing on top of her. His thick, pulsing cock swung beneath him, brushing against her knickers, setting off the tiniest ripples in the skin beneath and teasing her, making her gasp.

He moved his hand slightly, brushing her lips and clit before withdrawing it completely and positioning his cock at the entrance to her pussy before dipping into her slowly, tantalisingly, pulling back equally slowly, dipping into her again slightly deeper, pulling back again then- oh! He let out a shuddering breath, rolling his hips into hers.

She wrapped her legs around him, pushing their stomachs into sweaty contact; her breasts, still in her bra, brushing against his chest with every breath. Her hips rocked beneath him, setting their own rhythm, urging him deeper into her. One arm around his neck, pulling him in so she could kiss and nibble his neck, she moved the other down his body, lingering for a moment on his waist before continuing to his backside, his buttocks too irresistible to grab and squeeze. His eyes narrowed and he leaned down to bite her lip.

Her thighs tightened around him, her hips bucked faster, her gasps became grunts; he thrust harder, faster, ever more urgently; driving her ever closer – to a shuddering, convulsive, orgasm that ripped a long low strangled moan from her. He groaned in response, the clenching of her pussy triggering his own orgasm – explosive, hot, pulsing into her.

…An hour later, as he began to snore quietly, she pulled her skirt back on, located her left shoe and let herself out.

She started to sob on the walk home. She still had to pack. Still, she’d managed it. She wouldn’t see him again for the next she didn’t know how long, if ever – but their last night together had been just the way she wanted it to be.

Why not accepting anorgasmia doesn’t mean wanting orgasms all the time

It occurred to me when I was writing about feeling sexy but frustrated that I should talk in more detail about anorgasmia. I really didn’t want to have to link to Wikipedia again, but finding a decent alternative one-stop resource was nigh on impossible.

Fortunately, proving that I’m totally down with the zeitgeist (or, you know, just not that unusual – which is a scandal in itself), there’ve been some fantastic blogs lately about sex and depression, and medication-related anorgasmia.

Until the past month, my go-tos on this subject have been Epiphora and Redhead Bedhead. But then along came Crista Anne’s #OrgasmQuest. Read Rachel Kramer Bussel’s take on it for the Philadelphia City Paper, Jezebel’s article (this comment in particular reads like it was written by my life-twin) and Crista’s blog for blow-by-blow updates. I particularly love her take on partnered sex now she’s mid-quest. I’ve yet to have an orgasm through partnered sex. I’m in no rush – I have too much fun simply enjoying the ride – and it’s great to read about other people experiencing that too.

As Crista says, when explaining the quest, it’s not about demanding an orgasm every time, or trying to heal the depression with sex.

For me, at any rate, it’s about de-stigmatising sex. It’s about de-stigmatising mental health. It’s about those of us who are brave enough, determined enough (shameless enough?), to broadcast it as loud as we can that there are side effects to the pills that are supposed to give us our lives back – side effects that can take away the parts of our lives that made the rest bearable, that other patients might not feel able to talk about, leaving them miserable in a whole different way.

It’s about being able to say “no, this isn’t me” – and getting that accepted more widely, in the same way that it’s now accepted (mostly) that feeling like a zombie is not normal or desirable.

Living well does not mean living a partly muted life.

So much fell into place when I got my sex drive back, when I could start working out what I liked and what I didn’t, why it had been so miserable for me before – and I refused to believe that all those people enjoying it were doing so in spite of numbness and/or fingernails-down-the-blackboard oversensitivity (occasionally I managed both at the same time. That was fun). Getting my sex drive back – then getting my orgasms back – did as much for my mental health, my general wellbeing, my ability to deal with the rest of life, as did treating the mental symptoms and getting good counselling.

Like Lady Laid Bare I’ve never had an orgasm free of SSRIs. But then I’ve never had good mental health without them either, not as a grown up. Given the choice between not having orgasms or not being a functioning member of society, there’s no competition. But I’m wholeheartedly in agreement with her when she says:

It is your life and you have every right to question your current treatment and look for a better way of going about it.

Abso-bloody-lutely.