How could a ritual hand sign add sparks to your orgasm? It turns out that the 108 mudrās of Buddhism and Hinduism are an ancient form of electrical engineering. When you extend a finger, it’s like raising an antenna. When you join two fingers, you’re completing a circuit within your bio-electrical field. Add your genitals into the equation to create a “ground”—an absorber of unlimited amounts of current. Imagine your penis or clitoris as a Tesla coil bursting with long, high-frequency discharges. The mudrā could be likened to the coil’s transformer.

A fun mudrā to begin with is horny both figuratively and literally. You might already know it as the “sign of the horns,” a vulgar gesture in Mediterranean countries. The index and pinkie fingers are raised, and the middle and ring fingers are held down by the thumb. Note that the bent fingers create a snug little tunnel. That is, of course, where the penis or clitoris goes. Keep your pinkie and index fingers extended as you rub the mudrā up, down, and all around. In ritual practice, this gesture is called Karana Mudrā, and it is used for warding off obstacles and dissipating wicked thoughts. (That’s wicked in the sense of fiendish as opposed to playfully naughty. If you’re truly a devil in the bedroom, don’t try this at home.)

The Vajra Mudrā brings a true bang to the experience of orgasm. This “thunder mudrā” involves two hands, and it extends your penis or clitoris into a royal-size antenna for receiving erotic vibes. Make a fist with your right hand. Extend your right index finger, pointing upward. Make a fist with your left hand around the right index finger. Now lower your locked hands onto your clitoris or penis and pump away. Allow the energy of your orgasm to flow up through your extended index finger. It’s virtually guaranteed to rock your world.

Another gesture extends the genitals: the Linga Mudrā, named after the divine phallus of Hinduism. Interlace the fingers of both hands, as in prayer. Extend one thumb upward. Encircle it with the index finger and thumb of your other hand. Now cup your genitals and do your thing, keeping the thumb erect. The Linga Mudrā is traditionally used to strengthen the body’s immune system, and when applied to the genitals it’s good for sexual stamina.

Speaking of stamina, the Prana Mudrā is perfect for frequent masturbators who feel depleted and could use a boost of sexual energy. Extend the index and middle fingers into a “peace” sign. Touch the tips of the thumb, pinkie, and ring fingers. The touching fingers create an opening, perfect for encircling the clitoris or sliding up and down the shaft of the penis. Keep the extended fingers rigid during the masturbatory session. They’ll act like a tuning fork to make your orgasm pitch perfect.

Frequent flashers of the middle finger will likely flip over the Mantangi Mudrā. This gesture gives your genitals the trunk of an elephant. Clasp your hands as in prayer, fingers intertwined. Then extend both middle fingers, pointed away from your body. Note that your index fingers and thumbs naturally form a hole. Use this hole to encircle or envelop your genitals. Keep your middle fingers rigidly extended throughout your sex act to experience an energetic “fuckyou.”

The Jnana Mudrā is reminiscent of the “okay” sign. Join the tips of the thumb and index fingers to form a circle. Relax the remaining fingers. Hold your hand so your palm faces the general direction of your heart. This mudrā is traditionally used for fostering knowledge, so why not foster applied body chemistry? A woman can use her relaxed fingers to brush her labia as she surrounds the clitoris with the circle. If the diameter of a man’s penis is smaller than the finger circle, rotate the circle around the shaft like a hula hoop. If the circle is a snug fit, run it up and down the shaft. If the fit is too snug to maintain thumb and index finger contact, stimulate as much of the penis tip as possible without breaking the circle. A somewhat similar gesture is the Vitarka Mudrā, traditionally used to foster the discussion and transmission of spiritual teachings. The tips of the thumb and index fingers form a circle, but the remaining fingers are extended rather than relaxed. Keep the fingers rigid throughout the masturbatory session. Applying this gesture is like having a private tutor for the study of human sexuality.

Nipple pinchers may enjoy putting three different mudrās to use. With the Akash Mudrā, only the middle finger and thumb touch, while all other fingers extend. Use a tit as a junction point between the middle finger and thumb. Traditionally used for centering and nourishing the body, the Akash Mudrā is a terrific nipple stimulator. A similar gesture, the Apana Mudrā, adds another finger into the action. Join the tips of the thumb, middle, and ring fingers. Extend the pinkie and index fingers. Now three fingers can pinch a nipple, with a grounding effect. But keep those pinkie and index fingers rigid throughout. Another three-finger pincer is the Kubera Mudrā. Join the tips of the thumb, index, and middle fingers. Fold and tuck the ring finger and pinkie into the palm. The Kubera Mudrā is traditionally used to foster the attainment of one’s goals. If you have a Midas touch, these mudrās will make your fortune.

There are several books and websites dedicated to mudrās, so it’s easy to continue your education. But these initial tips should keep your hands full for a good, enjoyable while.  (Fingers crossed.)

There you are right in the heat of it, hand thrashing, dog licking… No, wait, that’s for a different website.

So there you are right in the heat of it, hand thrashing, toes curling, and you can tell this is going to be a good one; especially if you give it that extra little push. So you dig your heels into the back of the BART seat… Wait, that one’s for The Lonely Planet Guide to San Francisco.

So there you are right in the heat of it, hand thrashing, toes curling, giving it that extra little push to be memorable. You dig your heels into the mattress, stretch your shoulders back, pay no mind to the odd way your head is curving against your headboard. You’re almost there; you just need the right image cause orgasming to the wrong image sucks.

No, not that girl! No, not her grandma! Now you wish you had prepared better. It’s always best to go into masturbating with a plan. You’re starting to lose it, that roaring momentum, and that’s no good, you’re going to be off kilter for the rest of the teacher-parent conferences that day.

Ah, there it is, the image of the girl who let you into The Gap dressing room three years ago, random but perfect. You push on, pressing your head sickeningly askew from your body. A passerby could be forgiven for thinking you had broken your neck. But you don’t care. You have returned from the brink. You tense all the muscles in your back in preparation.

And that’s when you here it, the pop. Something, somewhere, usually in the upper middle part of your back, has come undone. A very important muscle has unraveled. But you keep on, breathing through the pain.

We developed this ability so as to keep running across the Savannah away from the saber-toothed tiger even when injured. In a modern twist on this evolutionary advantage you are able to keep masturbating although your back has just come in two.

Hand thrashing, breath held, the roaring in your head crests and breaks open in a wide, beautiful arc. The tension releases and all is good. That is until you try to move.

No one knows why masturbatory injuries are always so centrally located. But the moment you try and right your head you feel it, the searing pain shooting through your back. Oh god, you think, I am going to be trapped here with my pants down forever. Somehow you manage to get up, your head to one side, your arms held as still as possible.

Whatever muscle it is, it’s the one involved in every single movement you make, holding up your head, moving your arms, walking, turning, sitting, pooping. Oh lord, you’re not going to be able to push anything out for weeks.

You better get one of those Toto spray toilets cause you can just forget about reaching around. And now your girlfriend won’t have any interest in having sex with you… Wait, that was for a Japanese scat site.

At work the next day everyone asks what happened. You scroll through the possible responses in your head.

“I was building a rock wall.”
“I saved a nun from drowning.”
“I was yanking my wang so hard it pulled my back out.”

You can’t say that. It’s too ridiculous. You’ve already told your partner and now every time you wince she laughs at you. It’s the sympathy-less injury. There’s something about seeking pleasure to the point of hurting yourself that reeks of indulgence. That popped muscle is a Puritan punishment.

Pulling a muscle is certainly not the only masturbatory hazard. Misty pointed out that you can get jizz in a paper cut. Then you really are rubbing salt in your wound. Misty also said you can fall off the bed which sometimes entails hitting your head. I’m not sure how you would explain that black eye? But Misty certainly seems a vigorous maturbater. Go Misty go.

Once you have healed you tend to masturbate gingerly for a while. That’s never that fun. You have to feel free to really get into it for the full effect. As a preemptive I’ve taken to stretching before masturbating. Below is my list of best practices, in no particular order.

Yanking your wang? Bikram Yoga.
Smothering your schmekel? Try Kundalini Yoga.
Choking the chicken? Ashtanga Yoga!
Head-in-the-pillow-ass-in-the-air-squirting? Come over to my place Yoga

The minute they closed the door to the bedroom, she set upon the fly of his jeans. His erection was already straining at the worn denim. She unzipped him and swooned over the gorgeous sight in front of her. So smooth and pink, it looked ready for a photo shoot for a glossy magazine.

Instead she went to work, swirling her tongue over his velvety head and spiraling her hands around his shaft. Even though he suggested at one point that she stop if she wanted him to fuck her, she wanted to finish him off with her mouth. She knew how much he liked it and she liked hearing the moans and exclamations he made then that he didn’t make when he came inside her. He didn’t object a second time.

Sure enough, he lost all coherence as she sucked on his hefty balls and ran her tongue up the seam between them. He even let the word “love” tumble out of his mouth at one point, though she wasn’t sure if he said he loved her or just loved what she was doing. She took it all with a grain of salt at this point. She finished him off with a concentrated assault on the head and some vigorous pumping on the shaft as he grabbed at her hair and groaned with abandon.

“What about you?” he asked afterward. “What would you like me to do for you?”

“How about you just lie back and I’ll show you what I like?” she suggested.

They’d had sex several times, and he had been eager to please her each time. But there were always tricks that only a woman knew about herself and what brought her pleasure. And she’d had so little good sex for so many years, she had caught on early that the only way she’d be satisfied is if she took matters into her own hands. Those hands had gotten pretty skilled over the years.

“God, I love seeing you touch yourself,” he said. This seemed to be a new thing for him. Maybe most women didn’t have to do this if they had a guy around. Lucky them. Maybe they just felt self-conscious. Well, she’d gotten past that, hadn’t she?

He was already grinning as she lay back on the pillows, unbuttoned her blouse and revealed a lacy demi-bra, black with pink rosebuds. She ran her fingers over the scalloped edge of one cup, down the gentle slope into her cleavage, already dewy, and up the other side.

She skimmed her hands down over her breasts, leaving on the bra to get her money’s worth out of it. She moved lightly down over her stomach, past her belly button to the edge of her jeans. She scooted the waistband down to show the matching string bikini. She toyed with the lace there and lifted her eyes to him in a tease. He was already hard again and his eyes were dancing.

“I can’t believe you,” she laughed.

She returned to business, slipping her fingers under the panties and up and over her mound, light with hair. She was already aroused from her oral exploration of his cock, so the second she got to her clit, the electricity was on. She knew she had a head start on things and it wouldn’t take long to complete this little lesson for him.

That first delicious sensation was enough to elicit a sigh, and that was all it took for him to spring over to her and start kissing her on her stomach. He kissed around the sides of her breast and pulled down the lace to suck at a nipple.

“You drive me crazy,” he told her.

“Thanks. But just watch for now,” she said.

He leaned back again, and she removed her panties so he could see her hand in motion. She first put two fingers on either side of her clit and rubbed up and down. As the feeling spread, she began making circles around a larger area. In their previous times together, he had always paid attention there, but often he would poke at the thing like it was the on/off button on the TV. It wasn’t quite the action she needed, but she decided to show him a more effective alternative rather than say anything.

As she got more aroused she let her head tip back. In between the circles, she ran a finger down to the entrance of her vagina, circled it, then returned again to her clit, pushing down harder and moving her hand faster. Her hand swept over the whole area now, pushing into the bone that sheltered that exquisite font of pleasure.

She opened her eyes to look at him and saw him stroking his hard cock, murmuring encouragement to her. She closed her eyes for the final stretch, picturing him with his cock in hand and thinking of his excitement growing along with hers. If she were alone, she could conjure up scenes from their previous lovemaking. As she got close, she would often think of him and the things he said right before he came, always full of more passion than sense. That surrender was usually enough to push her over the edge.

But today she just had to think of him there next to her, so excited by watching her, and she felt the warmth start to spread in that wonderful moment when the mind can let go and let the body take over. Her orgasm washed over her and she gave herself up to it, arching her back and pushing into her hand. As it subsided, she removed her hand, wet and slick now, leaving behind even more wetness that – judging from the leer in his eyes – would not go to waste for long.

A good session usually begins for me earlier in the day, often on the street. Not masturbating on the street mind you, as that would be vulgar. It’s also illegal; maybe not in San Francisco but in most other places.

What I meant to say was that a good masturbation session for me usually begins when I see something worth masturbating too. Most often it is a person though certain orchids, the right pair of shoes, or a naked mannequin can help me set sail.

Yes, a naked mannequin can arouse my senses. Perhaps it is because of a young Kim Cattrell coming to life in the movie “Mannequin” making a young, shy boy wish that he too would get trapped inside a department store at night and find love. Perhaps it is because I am an abstract thinker and so the mere suggestion of the female nude is enough.

In any event, even if I do see one of those sexed up mannequins it only serves to heighten my vigilance to seek out a live beautiful woman, the erotic in the everyday. Living in the Bay Area, this might be why I have trouble masturbating.

I grew up in New York City where the streets are awash in feminine beauty. I’d see a pair of sculpted calves rise out of sharp heels, an asymmetrical hem slicing the air with every step. That woman would follow me home in my fantasy; or the slinky purple off shoulder number at 9 a.m., or the Ibiza girls falling out of a car on their way into a club.

People in the Bay Area don’t place such a premium on physical beauty. In Berkeley a woman is more likely to brush her aura than her hair. In San Francisco a woman is more likely to work her freak factor as sexy than have stepped out of the pages of a magazine. Even the Heights social set looks like a casting call for New York castoffs.

Even the architecture in New York has a sex appeal. Who wouldn’t mind tapping the Guggenheim’s ass? But do you really want to do anything more than cuddle with a Victorian?

The advantage to the Bay Area is people are more likely to actually find out who you are – and care. They are more likely to be on a journey towards understanding and to want to talk about it. Sometimes they want to talk about it ad nauseum, but communicate they will.

In New York you are more likely to find attitude, a refusal to admit uncertainty or weakness of any kind. But wow will they be beautiful. Which brings me back to my trouble masturbating last night.

The Bay Area is not a particularly good place for generating masturbatory fantasies for heterosexuals. If you’re a hetero woman you had better love really soft men or the fantasy of being licked all over by a posse of gays. If you’re a hetero man, well, you had better really love off center women or the fantasy of being licked all over by a posse of gays.

For both sets of heteros there is the occasional yoga toned body strutting by. But then you’re dealing with New York attitude.

When I first arrived on these shores I notice that my masturbating was a less intense experience. It took me a while to realize that I was resorting to old fantasies. I was having trouble generating new fantasies. And fantasies are kind of like gravity, the further away they get the less powerful they become.

So there I was last night, in bed, shaft in hand and what a soft shaft it was. There was no lift off. But I really wanted it. The old fantasies just weren’t cutting it. I tried to remember someone I had seen on the street of late, but girl’s who use hemp deodorant don’t do it for me, girls with big glasses and bad jeans don’t do it for me, girls in nice shoes, nicer dresses and blank faces don’t do it for me. What was I to do?

Then I remembered going to the water park in Concord the other day. On the other side of the Oakland hills lies another world, a world where women paint themselves for men; a world where looking hot is a full time job. Things began to perk up. I guess sometimes it’s important to leave the Bay behind you for a little bit.

I’m not saying any of what happens in Concord is good for the liberation of women. But it can be good for a fantasy or two. It may not be right, but it is true.

“Every year in San Francisco there is a Masturbate-A-Thon to raise awareness and funds for safe, accurate, comprehensive sex education. Fun fact: The record-holder in this event masturbated for 9 hours and 58 minutes straight! Now there is a dedicated philanthropist…

… Good Vibrations not only started this month-o’-masturbating, they also have a great Sex Ed 101 site, with advice on everything from masturbation tips to anatomy diagrams. Learning really can be fun!”

Thanks for noting our Sex Ed section, Bitch!

Related at Good Vibrations:
Sex Ed 101
Masturbation Kits
And pretty much every Vibrator, Sleeve, Dildo, and Butt Plug… ; )

Or has guilt just paved the road to my lifelong fascination with all that is bad? Bad is good. I recall in fifth grade on my Pee Chee folder I, artistically and like the bad ass I was, scrawled SEX, DRUGS and ROCK-N-ROLL on the front cover, proudly for all to see. I was hastily sent to the school principal then counselor, who subsequently called my mother. I was grilled and roasted.

“Do you even know what this means?” my mom said in that shrill shocked and horrified voice of hers. Well I did not know then, but it did not take me long to figure out the astounding virtues of said sex, drugs and rock-n-roll. From that moment on–I was hooked. Bad is good.

When I was in seventh grade, back when you still had to take typing class, a concept so far removed and bizarre that I am completely aging myself in this divulgence, I used to leave dirty notes in the typewriter for whoever was sitting at my machine the following class. In fact now that I recall, this is all I used to type during class, vulgar sex notes, vulgar for a seventh grader. I had only kissed one boy by this time and there I was leaving little pieces of my sex behind for random strangers to find. Hmmm sound familiar, not much has changed, except now I can almost write a complete sentence. Like a typing practice, over and over I would type; I want to fuck you so hard, I want your big dick shoved down my throat, I want to fuck your brains out, I want you dick, I want your dick, I want your dick. Then I would slyly tuck the note inside the casing of the typewriter so you could not see the paper sticking out, so when the next person who came in to load their paper would have to extract my dirty note. Bad is good.

It was in the third grade that I first got a glimpse of pornography. Roberta Gonzalez stole a magazine from her brother and at recess the two of us would hover over the magazine, dazed, not giggly, not amused, not in any way little girlish– just straight up dazed with enthrallment of these giant looking women, with extreme tan lines, hairy wet pussy, with their fingers and hands all over themselves. We never spoke when we looked at the magazine, and barely said anything about it to each other, but everyday we looked though that same rag. We kept hid behind the fence in the furthest portion of the playground and every recess for a long time the two of just remained captivated over these women and then one day the magazine was gone.

That is when I discovered my step-father’s stash. Looking back on it, it was fucking great collection. Vintage 70’s stuff, playing cards, pens, posters, coasters, and a monolithic stack of magazines. Spending many hours after school in the garage trying to locate all his secret hiding places, I became a master of knowing his secrets. Often I would be overcome with guilt, and disgust, for myself and my step-father, and I would pile all the stuff back away, but with a certain amount of revulsion, sloppy slamming, not in order, not like one should handle a prime vintage porn collection. He knew I was out there, looking at his private tits and bush; the stash spot was ever changing along with my levels of eroticism and revolt.

Along came masturbation, one of the bigger guilty pleasures I still grapple with. Ridiculous. I began feeling myself at a very young age, probably around 8 and it has never stopped or really ceased to amaze and delight me on a daily basis, yet I still get that occasional pang of guilt. Say when I have locked myself in my apartment fall day and just sat around in my jammies watching porn, with various fingers, toys, vibes, dildos, magic bullets, lubes, lube container, shoving in and around at my excessively self-fucked pussy. Not sure what this stems from, but I know ever since young girl masturbation has been a part of me.

At around twelve I was obsessed with making myself cum, I could do it anywhere and I did and I still do. Bad is good. Sitting around a table full of people, family dinners, family game night, in the back seat of the car, on the airplane, at the grocery store, at restaurants, in front of the T.V., anywhere I could frantically rub my prepubescent pussy I would. The first inanimate object I used, as a replacement to my fingers or to the all the imaginary cock I had seen in the glossy pages under those fluorescent flickering garage lights, was the remote control. I am true T.V. baby. I love you T.V. and now I understand why. I rubbed it into my cotton flowered panties, feeling the nubs of the buttons clash against my cunt, the whole thing rubbing into my mound, making my clit pop out. I would do this so often I noticed a rubbed away spot in all my panties, the cotton wearing thin forming a circle pattern, which was obviously from my obsessive finger rubbing. I then really began to bang myself, under the panties. Life changed, I changed.

It is about this time that I was allowed to stay home alone after school, coincidentally it was also about the same time we started getting obscene phone calls. My mom answered the first few and always hung up instantly. I tried to get her to tell me what they said, but she never would, just gave some lame ass answer. One magical day after school, I got the phone call. The boy-man on the other side asked me what color my panties were. I told him. I could instantly hear his breath change when I whispered–blue. He hung up. The next day the phone rang and he was there, I told him again what color. He asked me if I liked to touch myself, I mumbled “uh huh, yeah.” “Will you do it now?” “Ummm yes I am.” We never really spoke he just listened to me making myself cum, over and over. Every once in awhile he would call and my mom would answer, she would fume and hang up the phone, I would get mad or hurt or something at how mad she got, because I guess she would be mad at me too. For the entire school year I listened to the caller on the other end, ask me about my panties, then ask me to touch myself, as he listened to me moan, grunt is my young girl way. I could here him too his breath, his rumble, his loss of control. The way he came, the way we often came together.

One night the phone rang, my mom answered. When she hung up, she told us it was the police. Saying they arrested a guy who had our phone number listed amongst a list of numbers he was making obscene phone calls to. I was scared; scared I was going to be in trouble. I felt guilty, dirty, and I felt loss, because I liked coming with this guy, in this fucked up way. I loved it and I think it has had a lifelong affect on my sexuality. I wondered if other girls/women came with him on the phone, succumbed to his phone sex exploits like I did. Then I felt a wave of jealousy. Like he belonged to me, but there was a list of numbers according to the police. My mom asked if I ever answered the phone when he called, I told her yes, but that I always just hung up on him. Claiming he was gross, which meant I was too. Good turns to bad, to guilt, to uncontrollable deviant sex behavior, but why does it feel so good? Bad is good.

Yes, I have several suggestions, plus a kudo for not taking your partner’s issues on, which can indeed be challenging. First, it’s possible some help from a supportive therapist might make a real difference in your life. Ideally, you can get your husband to do a few sessions with you also. If that’s not in the cards:

Make sure your solo sessions are not just perfunctory, but at least once in a while real dates with yourself. The Chinese translation for masturbation is “self-comfort,” and that is clearly an element of what you’re doing, but try to make these experiences even more than that and indulge in self-care and self-love. That means it’s good to add in pleasurable elements of other kinds, not just a fast one with you and your vibrator.

I just addressed a question a bit like yours last night on the fun podcast LadyBrain; that woman’s twist was that she and her husband’s sex frequency was low, though not non-existent, and he had added masturbation into his life on a regular basis (or had never slowed down, perhaps, even when the two of them were younger and had a higher sexual frequency). This may be true of your husband also, and it might — *might!* — be possible that you and he can merge your self-pleasuring practice and do it together, at least once in a while. Couples who have never masturbated together don’t know how intimate and lovely this can be, and while it may not be possible for you two, it’s worth suggesting.

Finally, yours is one of the many scenarios that leads couples to choose polyamory, and perhaps that’s something for you to consider together. Can you find either a casual erotic playspace that you’d enjoy (sex party, swing club, etc.), or a lover or two who understand your primary commitment and will not wish to supplant or threaten it? Not everyone is cut out for this kind of intimate sharing, but many, many couples do it, and it can help stabilize relationships that include a degree of sexual incompatibility. At its best it creates stable, ongoing families of erotic affiliation, not just sexual opportunities outside the duo for one or both partners – not that there’s anything less about that option, as you (going without as you currently are) may well feel.

Here’s some reading material to help you consider the possibilities and skills polyamory could involve for you – I especially recommend the first one. I’d encourage both of you to read these and discuss, as they say in college. Ideally you two will address this issue together and create a plan that moves you in a direction that allows you to include partnered pleasure in your life once again.

The Ethical Slut (Dossie Easton and Janet Hardy)

Open: Love, Sex, and Life in an Open Marriage (Jenny Block)

Opening Up: A Guide to Creating and Sustaining Open Relationships (Tristan Taormino)

Polyamory: The New Love Without Limits (Deborah Anapol)

Good luck!–CQ

Ani Niow’s Steampunk Vibrator

Photo: ladycartoonist.com and ladycartoonist on flickr

Ani Niow and her SteamVibe — a hand-held steam-powered vibrator. It’s fitted with a Tesla Turbine (probably one of the smallest in the world. with captions from Ani who I contacted via email. She told me more:

“In use it creates a very low level buzz, not as much as other vibes but you can definitely feel it. I’m going to re-machine the weight inside to see if I can get it shaking a bit more sometime next week. Despite being called “steampunk” it turns out steam is really impractical for it given it gets really really hot, to the point where it would burn skin on the part where the engine is, so I’m using compressed air to run it until I can get a hold of a powerful enough boiler to make it work on that.”

Here’s a closer look at this impressive machine.

“The stepped casing has several functions, the first being a form of tactile feedback, the second is so I could machine away layers of them as I got to the size I wanted and the third is because it looks fucking cool.”

“The brass thing sticking out of the vibe is an adapter for a hose in which steam or compressed air would go through.”

“The brass piece with a bunch of holes in it is the engine cap which is threaded into the vibe. the holes are for the exhaust.

This is the engine housing. grooves are so air/steam gets directed into them and then through the teeny little holes that are drilled to make the engine.”

“You can see the first rotor which is a dremel diamond coated cutoff bit. Chose them since they had exhaust holes pre-drilled out in the arrangement I needed.

Can’t make it? See more of the Steampunk Vibrator on Ani’s flickr stream. (via @vniow) And if SteamPunk get’s your whistles blowing, be sure to bookmark SteamPunkWorkshop.com.

If you’re in San Francisco and want to see the vibrator close-up along with a bunch of other fantastic looking creations, head on over to Femina Potens. Here’s their official release:

A Touch of Pleasure

SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA – MAY 2, 2009 7-10pm step through the doors at Femina Potens Art Gallery to experience a wonderland of art works and installations that will leave you salivating as your host for the evening, sex educator and feminist Porn Star, Madison Young welcomes you to a world of art and pleasure. Sculptural installations from Maria Kretschman, of ice cream dildos will leave you dripping for a taste of something sweet. Steampunk style turbine engine powered vibrators that can be powered from your kitchen’s espresso machine engineered by Ani Niow, will have you revved up for more. World famous, Kink.com and FuckingMachines.com, will be bringing us the future of masturbation with one of their originally designed machines by Kink.com’s Tom Cat. Come see what the world is so fascinated with when it comes to jilling off at over 200 rotations per minute!

And although the future looks promising we mustn’t forget our past. We pay homage to our masturbatory heritage with a display of antique vibrators on display from the Center for Sex and Culture. Our walls will be spewed with the creation of visually astounding art works by photographer Ryan Whittier and artist Diana Stapleton while performance artist, chel{SEA LU}na, breaks boundaries with a series of live performance art. Femina Potens, proudly presents ‘A Touch Of Pleasure’ as we encourage viewers and artists to take matters into their own hands, so to speak, at our second annual visual and performance art exhibit celebrating National Masturbation Month.

Originally started in 1995 by Good Vibrations, Masturbation Month was established to protest the firing of U.S. Surgeon General Dr. Joycelyn Elders, who, when asked about safe sex, responded with, “Masturbation is something that perhaps should be taught.” Afterward, conservative outrage cost Elders her position and inspired Good Vibrations to wage war in the name of rubbing one out on the home front.

These artists will manipulate the meaning of masturbation through drawing, sculpture, installation, performance, and engineering. Masturbation means different things to all of us and our artists will explore these ideas, stigmas, innovations, and private processes of pleasure through ride-able, larger than life sex toys, fucking machines, and steam powered dildos! Come celebrate one of our favorite pastimes on May 2; we hope to send you home inspired to explore yourself.

Receive your very own stimulus package this May at Femina Potens. Opening Reception May 2, 2009 7:00-10:00pm. This is your chance to meet and enjoy refreshments with the talented artists that created these masturbating masterpieces. Show runs May 2-31, 2009.

Related Posts:
Good Vibrations Antique Vibrator Museum
Fucking Machines Demo

Related Products:
Eroscillator 2 Plus
Eroscillator Top 2 Deluxe Vibrator

Remember all that winking she did during the debate? That was for me.

Have you seen those youtube videos of her at her Church in a trance-like, laying-on-of-hands-like, speaking-in-tongues-like state? My penis caused that.

Most importantly, though, I am responsible for her current Vice-Presidential aspirations.

It all began eight years ago. I went up to Alaska with a friend of mine to get a job on a fishing boat. My friend assured me that not only would we be paid handsomely but because we’d be stuck on the boat we’d come back to a full salary. My only concern was where on such a little boat I would be able to masturbate. You’re on the boat for months; a fella could die.

As fate would have it every fishing captain rejected me. I didn’t know how to tie knots and kept asking if the boat had a masturbation room. “A fella could die,” I explained.

My friend caught on with a salmon boat and so in the year 2000 I found myself alone and jobless in Wasila, Alaska. I recalled my tale of woe one day to a man called Smokey Joe. He was in the beef jerky business. Of course, in Wasila the phrase beef jerky is a euphemism. You never know if someone is actually drying meat or jerking it.

Apparently Smokey Joe knew a few people. He took pity on me, made a phone call, and the next thing I knew I was reporting to the mayor’s office.

It seems Mayor Palin refused to read her email on the computer. She called it Voodoo mail. So at the end of the day I would print them out and leave them on her desk for her to look at the next morning. Then, one day, it happened.

It was late June. The sun was still high in the sky. I didn’t knock because there was never anyone in the office. I don’t know why I didn’t hear the television.

I opened the door and saw the screen flickering. It was Anne Coulter explaining why Al Gore was a viscous voodoo viper. I listened for a moment then turned to the desk. There was Sarah Palin, feet on the desk, skirt hiked up, legs spread, her hand down below.

At first she didn’t take her eyes from Anne. Her captain’s chair shook back and forth from the vigor of her actions. Then she saw me. I had no time to react. She leapt over her desk, planted a foot in my chest and knocked me to the ground. Still watching Anne, she knelt over my face and did as she willed with me.

“Oh gosh,” she called out, her hips moving back and forth. “Dog gone it,” she screamed. That’s how you knew she was getting close. “Dog gone it. Dog gone it.” It was hard to breathe. But every time Anne Coulter swiped the Democrats Sarah Palin shivered and bucked. I grabbed one last gasp of air before surrendering to her little death.

“Because Bill Clinton’s a liar,” Anne Coulter hissed.

“Dog gone it,” Sarah Palin gasped.

“Because Al Gore’s a viscous voodoo viper,”

“Dog gone it.”

“Because George W. Bush is the only hope this country has.”

“Dog gone it!”

That’s how it ended that afternoon on the floor of the office of the mayor of Wasila. Sarah Palin stood up, tossed me a handkerchief and said, “Clean yourself up.”

Every afternoon I’d go to drop off her printed emails. And every afternoon there’d be Sarah warming up for me. She’d use me like the bone I was.

Anne Coulter was our porn. Sarah liked to ride me reverse cowboy style on the couch so she could watch. She’d already had three kids but I can tell you this about Sarah Palin, she does her kegels.

On weekends we’d rendezvous at a hunting cabin. It was one night there, bent over a potbelly stove, that she first spoke in tongues. On Sunday we’d buy a dead moose from Smokey Joe and strap it to the hood of her truck, an Alaskan alibi.

My responsibility for Sarah Plain’s star rising in the political firmament is this. I knew the night George W. Bush accepted the nomination would be an explosive night for us. We stayed in her office. I wrapped myself in the American Flag. She rocked on top of me the whole night. I watched from around her back. Then came the fateful moment.

As W. tripped and fell though his speech I shook my head and said, “I guess any idiot can be President.”

I felt Sarah Palin tighten around me. “Say that again,” she demanded. I would have said anything to keep her moving so I repeated it. “I guess any idiot can be President.”

“Dog gone it. Say it again.”

“I guess any idiot can be president.”

“Dog gone it. Dog gone it!”

Sarah Palin fell off me. She lay on the floor loose, luscious and panting. “I’m going to run for Lieutenant Governor,” she said. Then, seeing me so close, and ever the patriot, she pointed her finger at me and said, “Judah, don’t come on the flag.“ So I didn’t.

She did run for Lt. Governor in 2002. She lost but it set the stage for her eventual taking of the Governor’s seat.

But I didn’t know any of this when I left at the end of the summer. For me, it was just the end of a romance and I was sad to leave my Sarah Palin.

Driving back home with my friend I felt there was little I could say about my summer. So I asked him about his time on the fishing boat.

“It was great,” he said. “The whole thing is made possible because they set a room aside for you to g and masturbate in. They call it the beef jerky room. A fella could die, you know.”

An Addendum:

I actually went back to Alaska early this year to try to see Sarah Palin. She brushed me off now that she was Governor. I was hurt and fell into the arms of her daughter. The baby is mine. We’re naming it Anne Coulter.

But people in relationships certainly do masturbate, for about a million reasons. A few of those reasons:

• Convenience. It might be quicker and easier to get yourself off than to make love with your partner.
• Preference. You might prefer to get yourself off privately, and enjoy other things while you’re with your partner. If you satisfy yourself, you might not feel like you need to worry about orgasm when you’re enjoying partnered sex.
• Inclusion. You might enjoy sex with yourself and with your partner. The more the merrier!
• Education. You might enjoy playing alone to help yourself know your body better, thus improving your comfort level and proficiency during sex with your partner.
• Exploration. You might try out different activities — toys, techniques, fantasies — by yourself, as a preparation to bringing them to your partner or as a way of seeing if you want to.
• Privacy and self-care. Self-pleasure can increase intimacy in the relationship by giving you the opportunity to be alone and take care of yourself.

On the other hand (excuse the pun!), masturbation isn’t something you have to keep separate. It can be a wonderful part of a lovemaking session. Some of the reasons couples masturbate together are:

• It’s sexy! Watching another person masturbate or being watched is a common fantasy for women and for men. It can be the simplest form of exhibitionism or voyeurism between partners.
• It’s fun! Taking care of our own pleasure while with our partners can be even more fun than doing it alone.
• It’s dirty! We’re often told that masturbation is private and maybe even sinful or deviant. Maybe we don’t really believe that — but masturbating with your partner can still be a huge taboo, which is very erotic for some people. Enjoy crossing those boundaries!
• It’s different! Masturbating together can be a great variation from your lovemaking routine, especially if one or both of you feel like you’re in a rut.
• It’s educational! Watching your lover pleasure him- or herself can give you new ideas about how he or she likes things done.
• It’s easy! On those days when you’re too tired to make love but you would still like to be sexual together, masturbating together can be a great low-stress way to do that.
• It’s exploratory! In cases where the two of you are thinking about trying a sexual variation, but one of you is reluctant or uncomfortable, shared masturbation is a way to explore without the awkwardness that partnered sex can sometimes bring. A perfect example of this is, for instance, a woman whose partner may feel uncomfortable with her interest in sex toys — vibrators, dildos, etc. Another example might be a man who enjoys using dildos anally, whose partner is uncomfortable in incorporating that into their lovemaking. Watching each other masturbate using the new technique can bridge that gap.

So if you want to spice up your lovemaking, try masturbating together. And there are plenty of ways you can make those sessions even more exciting. A few of them are:

• Pay attention to your environment. If you’re laying next to each other on the bed, you have the advantage of being in contact, which can be wonderful. But it’s much harder to see what the other person is doing. An alternate way is to sit across from each other, perhaps on two facing couches or easy chairs — you’ll see everything in wonderful detail.
• Talk to each other. Perhaps each of you can tell the other what he or she likes about each technique. Or you can share a sexy fantasy — see the next point.
• Read erotica out loud. Perhaps one of you can read a sexy story aloud while the other one pleasures him- or herself. Or, if you prefer, one of you can make up a sexy story for the other on the spot!
• Watch an erotic movie together. Some of the most popular movies for couples are The Voyeur #13, White Lightning and Thighs Wide Open.
• Wear sexy clothes for yourselves and for each other. This could mean skimpy lingerie, a leather jumpsuit or a tuxedo — whatever makes you and your partner feel sexy while you’re touching yourselves.
• If you enjoy music, play something that turns you on. The slow grind of tribal ambient, the silk voice of Barry White and the inspiration of techno-trance music can all lend a wonderful ambience. Pretend you’re at a strip club putting on a sexy show for your lover!

Most importantly, remember that loving yourself is loving your partner. There’s no reason the two of you can’t enjoy the most fundamental of sexual pleasures while enjoying each other. It’s more than worth the effort!