By LW
A close friend won a raffle at an event the other night, a gift bag from a sex shop. She explained over the phone to me that most of the gifts were decent, but one was something that she wasn’t in a position to enjoy. So I asked her what it was and she paused, longer than she ever had. Her first words were, “Well, it’s kind of hard to describe. It’s kind of like an egg, (ooo, vibrating egg?) and when you open it up there’s this thing inside it and in the middle of that there’s this hard thing with some lube.” I was thinking, well, can the thing work on a clit, or can you just turn it on and it’s an equal opportunity toy? But the next words out of her mouth were, “It’s meant for someone with a penis.” Now I was really curious. I was thinking a vibrating ring that goes on a penis or…? My thoughts were running away from me and from what she was saying. The gist of it was that she was in no position to receive pleasure from it, so she wanted to give it to someone who could enjoy it. If possible, a woman friend with a penis.
Being gifted with a sex toy is terrific. Mind you, I had always hoped my first store-bought toy would be a dildo or a sparkly pink prostate massager, but an egg that couldn’t be described was potentially a thing to enjoy and was certain to be a giggle at the very least. So I let go of wondering what it was ‘til she gave it to me, which happened last night when we all went to see a movie that was part of the LGBT film festival. It was a bi film that was kind of hot, about a young woman dumped by her girlfriend, her past and present relationships, and her sexual encounters since. I was still kind of warm the next morning, so it was a good time to consider having an egg for breakfast.
I’ll admit that when I got home the previous night I googled the egg and found out that it was from Japan. And in my mind, all good things come from Japan: my friend Midori, anime, Rodan, Godzilla, Hondas, Priuses and now, penis eggs. Still unclear on why it wasn’t a pussy egg, I found it online and became enlightened. Apparently, the egg was a Tenga Egg, belonging to a category of sex toy called a sleeve, for a person to insert their penis into. In my mind, the whole idea didn’t do a thing for me, but I admit I was intrigued; this was a sleeve that closely resembles what it feels like having intercourse with a woman, but without the woman. Now, I’m the kind of woman who would greatly prefer the woman without the intercourse, but I was still intrigued. And as I said, after the previous night’s offering I was still a little warm, so I thought that it would be the best time to crack open the egg.
The fact that I’m a vegetarian who hasn’t had an egg in 29 years was totally offset by the fact that it is popularly known that mornings are the best time for an erection. I think in part they tell this to boys so they don’t feel like freaks when their penises rise up and wander about in the morning on their own. Yep, it was time to rendezvous with a squishy, internally ribbed egg, squishy-filled with water-soluble lube. (I used squishy twice in that sentence but I could’ve said it three times; that’s how squishy it is.)
If I sound lukewarm about the whole set-up, I was, but I was also quite game about it. After a while of thrusting and more thrusting, and then having it climb on top and thrust on top of me (pretend climb and pretend thrust), I knew it wasn’t going anywhere. I wasn’t enjoying myself. I can take a long time when I’m with myself, and sometimes even then it doesn’t go anywhere, egg or no egg. The problem with adding the egg was a complete lack of desire on my part to fuck an egg, as it were. My hand had infinitely more character. The egg; well, it was squishy but without context or a face; there was no breath or sounds to spark my interest. No weight, sighs, deep breaths, or exclamations. No scent, candlelight, coffee, dessert, dinner, or intimate sharing, nothing. It had no zing. It was totally up to me, and it wasn’t telling me what it wanted; it was acting just like a squishy lube-filled egg – which it was.
In any case, I will say that sleeves for men don’t work for me. What I will say is I like context, context and touch. A person next to me with a scent and their energy, their voice, their breath, their mind and touch. I want sharing and I want hotness. Power shared and reinvested; energy, intimacy. And in toys, something hard and not ghostly white or squishy like a runny egg that stays in place. Perhaps something with batteries and/or something that can fuck me good where my sex wants it or can have it.
As for the egg and I, we won’t be seeing each other again. There was no chemistry. Or rather, there was chemistry, but no biology.