Cross-posted from Junkbuzzed…

For those who missed it, this week I am reviewing the masturbatory wonders of the Fleshlight in a 5-post series. Parts one and two went up Monday and Tuesday – catch them here and here. (I strongly recommend reading them in order, because reading my crap is a lot like watching HBO’s Carnivale, in that we both suck as exposition, unless said exposition is thrown out there to confuse the viewer/reader even further.) But nonetheless, a quick recap, for those suffering from short-term memory loss:
- I threw a hissy-fit over not getting any free sex-toys
- Always Aroused Girl, the Official Angel-Faerie of Teh Internets, offered me a Fleshlight through Eden Fantasys, provided I would review it
- I did a happy dance
- I stuck a Boba Fett action figure into it
- I turned it into a thermos

VI. THE CONCEPT OF A MAN IN HIS LATE 30S WHO HAS BOUGHT A FUCK-TON OF SEX-TOYS, BUT NEVER ONE TO USE ON HIMSELF

The arrival of the Fleshlight brought with it a bit of consternation. It wasn’t quite what I was expecting, but then again, I wasn’t really sure what I was expecting in the first place. I have been buying sex-toys for many, many years. But never for my own benefit – unless you count a lifetime’s accumulation of ass-whackers, bondage accoutrements, remote-controlled butt-plugs, ugly sticks and rock-chicks procured for the exploitation of others’ pleasure to be my own benefit. Which it sort of is.

But let’s be honest here – sex-toys for boys have been historically pretty slim and shoddy.

I mean, it’s not exactly rocket science, figuring out what sorts of things boys like to nut in/on/near. In short – holes. So let us take a brief tour of some of the many holes that boys have appropriated for the singular purpose of their own sexual gratification:

GIRL-HOLES:
- pussy-holes
- ass-holes
- mouth-holes

BOY-HOLES:
- ass-holes
- mouth-holes

OTHER HOLES:
- glory-holes
- fist-holes (a/k/a The Band of the Hand)
- love-doll holes
- holes in rocks
- holes in trees
- holes in sediment
- sink-holes (excessive girth and stamina usually required)
- doughnuts (primarily Dunkin Donuts, as Krispy Kreme doughnuts are far too moist and prone to breakage)

Assuming that the boy in question is looking solely for something to nut on/in/near, the pickings are maddeningly slim. Sure, there have always been the built-in-joke since time immemorial of the love-dolls, be they the cheap, inner-tube-grade blow-up dolls of yore, or the version 2.0 models, with their real-feel skin, porn-star vaginas, and $5,000 price-tags.

And not that it’s mattered so much historically. After all, boys are not exactly known for taking their genitals too seriously (one of the many advantages of being part of the patriarchy). The main rallying cry of a boy’s genitals is usually something like this:

‘Hey! I wonder what that hole feels like!’

And thus it was with the Fleshlight – the only difference being that this was something of a designer hole. Which from a certain point of view could take some of the fun out of it – because you know how boys love to improvise. It makes us feel crafty.

VII. FIELD TESTS (SEXUAL)

While I had completed all my non-sexual field-tests, I still wasn’t quite ready to take the plunge myself. I thought it best to give it a test-drive from a somewhat more female-centric point of view. Because if boys love pussy, then lesbians practically worship it (see Acantha, acanthus, and face-scratching).

a. THE GREAT LESBIAN FORD TEST-DRIVE EVENT

So I called up my friend Doris. Doris is a butch lesbian. But don’t let that scare you – other than her outright hatred for men, meat, and mirth, she’s really quite a lovely girl. IT geek by day, professional dominatrix by night, Doris is what you would end up with if you mashed-up Booger from Revenge of the Nerds, Bulle Ogier from Maîtresse, and Cookie Monster. Happy to contribute to the pursuit of questionable science, Doris came over, bearing, as requested, a strap-on harness and dildo.

(Doris Fun-Fact #1: Did you know that Dion’s classic song “Runaround Sue” was inspired by a girl named Doris? Doris, in fact, was to be the titular character of the song, but, upon realizing that the only good rhyme for ‘Doris’ was ‘clitoris’, Dion wisely changed it to Sue.)

After blowing through all my alcohol reserves in getting Doris good and tanked, I began plying her in my most gentle mode of coercion: ‘come on, fuck my Fleshlight. Please? I’ll make cookies!’

(For the record: never enter into a drinking contest with a butch dyke – it’s gonna end badly for you, trust me. She will drink you under the table; and, once satisfactorily slumped under said table, she will then rifle through your pockets, stealing your wallet, watch, and anything else that may be of value. Because while they seem really nice on network TV, take it from me – butch dykes are mean, mean people. So handle with caution.)

Never underestimate the power that freshly-baked cookies hold over a butch dyke. Thus, a quick trip to the stand-mixer later, and both of us were practicing our own wildly different takes on the creaming method: me with butter and sugar; and Doris, poking away at the Fleshlight’s pursed cavity with a lackadaisical forefinger. The remainder of her prep-work looked like that of a UFC fighter getting ready to clamber into the octagon, with a lot of neck-cracking, grunting, and the continued downing of scotch.

(Doris Fun-Fact #2: Doris Kearns Goodwin is an excellent historical researcher and writer. Well, she is when she’s not busy plagiarizing other people’s books. But that’s okay. Team of Rivals so quenched my own historical fetish for all things William Seward that she could give it up and start writing for TMZ, and I’d still like her.)

All her accoutrements set firmly in place – and let me tell you, there are few sights as stunningly twisted as a drunken butch-dyke wearing a strap-on harness and dildo over her khakis while preparing to mount a Fleshlight. Seriously. It just doesn’t get any better than this.

“Why am I doing this again?” asked Doris.

“Because you are my friend and you love me very much.”

Doris harrumphed and waggled her plastic purple penis at me.

“And because I am making cookies.”

“Oh yeah.”

(Doris Fun-Fact #3: Doris, in Greek mythology, was one busy chick, pumping out no less than 50 – count ‘em – 50 sea-nymphs from her engorged loins. That’s a whole lotta nymphage.)

As I pulled out the first tray of cookies, Doris slid her plastic purple penis into the fish-mouthed maw of my Fleshlight.

“I can’t believe this is how I’m spending my Saturday night,” she sighed.

“How is it?” I asked, grabbing my notepad.

“How is what?” she grumbled.

“How is it?” I repeated, nodding to the Fleshlight. “Is it a good fuck?”

“Are you retarded?” yelled Doris.

“I’m a journalist,” I said resolutely, waving my pen for added effect.

“You’re a moron,” she responded, “and a bigger pussy than this thing I’m fucking. Now give me a cookie.”

A plate of cookies later, and I once again impressed upon Doris just how important her forthrightness was to my pursuit of scientific truth.

“Well,” she drawled through a mouthful of cookies, “it’s a hole. Pretty sturdy, too. So, you know, it’s all good.”

Which is why I love Doris so much. And why every straight man should have at least one butch dyke friend. Because they’re like a perfect hybrid of all the best parts of men and women. Except that they will under no circumstances ever have sex with you.

Rating: A (like the lady said – a hole’s a hole.)

Coming up tomorrow: the Snarling Misanthrope himself sticks his own penis into a Fleshlight, forgetting one really important thing.