The boxcover copy for the Multi-Erogenous Zone Massager says it’s “as versatile as your desire,” and that’s not far from the truth. It looks like a tuning fork designed by Salvador Dali; if you put googly eyes on it, it would look like an alien straight out of a Pixar cartoon. Soft silicon with a rigid core, the Tryst looks feminine enough that you might at first wonder what you as a penis-equipped American can do with it, but the answer is “a lot.”
Adult online retailer ManShop.com is talking prostate massage, masturbation and more with fetish performer Lance Hart and ManShop.com’s marketing guru Jeff Dillon on Reddit’s AmA from 4 to 5 p.m. PST on Tuesday, August 30.
The Fuck Me Silly Sista Mega Masturbator turned out to be a lot more interesting – and useful – than I thought it would. Here’s why: Using it involves so much more than the same old hand and wrist action that it’s almost deceptive to think of it as just a masturbator; the makers of Fleshlights sometimes call them Stamina Training Units, but the Sista is almost a Sex Training Unit.
The Mast-Bot Super-Powered Stroker is an interesting tool that requires some innovation to make it worth your while. In form, it resembles nothing quite so much as a fat lightsaber hilt with a Sarlacc mouth where the emitter matrix would be. The Sarlacc mouth, fortunately, is just a soft TPR (thermoplastic rubber) sleeve built to stroke your cock, instead of digesting it for a thousand years. The trick to the Mast-Bot is that it just pushes that chamber up and down your cock, exactly like a Sawz-all type fucking machine except with a pussy on the end instead of a dildo – it’s only about four inches deep, but that’s plenty to work your head and frenulum, which leaves the rest of your cock open for other sensations.
You can use the Mast-Bot as a plain old stroker, holding it in your hand like any other, and get yourself off pretty quickly if that’s what you want, but I decided to try and make it part of something more complete.
There’s a lot of talk about shame connected with the art and the act of masturbation; sometimes it’s overt, immediate and very hard to deal with because it comes from outside yourself, but sometimes you don’t understand the effects until you look back on it from a position of much greater experience, when you’re able to recognize your own participation. When I was a kid, I didn’t have any sense of shame regarding self-pleasure; my parents weren’t especially religious, and in spite of being raised in an at least nominally Catholic environment, I didn’t hear anything much about it. On the few occasions I attended confession, it didn’t even occur to me to mention how much I enjoyed my time in the bathroom with mom’s hand soap. Masturbation was a secret thing, but not because it was shameful or embarrassing – more because it was a body function, private like the rest of them. I had, as I think everyone has, a couple of instances of getting walked in on by family members, but it was the same reaction, for me anyway, as I would have had if the bathroom door had opened while I was on the toilet.
It took accession to adulthood for me to find out what it meant to be embarrassed about masturbating, and it arrived in a most unexpected way.