Ms Robinson's new toy

The email arrived from Jo Divine. Ms Robinson won't reprint it all because it was far too complimentary and will make all other bloggers jealous but basically it said:

'Ms Robinson we think you are one classy lady and can think of nobody we'd rather have reviewing our sex toys. We know that you're not a sex blogger but unlike many of your filthy pussy and cock chasing colleagues, we feel that when you have sex you ALWAYS do it with a high degree of discernment. And we feel that will reflect well on our products in a way it wouldn't if we gave it to someone who is given to having debauched sex in hotel rooms."

When Ms R mentioned it to her pal and well-known sex blogger, Suzanne Portnoy, she was unimpressed.

"Why not me?"

"No Suze you don't understand: these are discreet, upmarket sex toys; they will appeal to people who maybe haven't quite got into the hard core stuff."

"What do you mean? Everyone uses sex toys."

"Suzanne I have news for you: they don't. Moreover, there are people who've never had a threesome or been to an orgy."

"You're kidding me, Ms R. What sort of perverted world are we living in?"


The object in question is a Lelo Lily and what a fine stylish box it comes in. Like the typeface too.



Things look even more promising when Ms R sees the packaging. Very discreet and elegant. it has its own black satin pouch. Already we have major gift potential here. No problem at all.


The Lelo Lily itself feels good to hold: If you haven't guessed already this is a clitoral stimulator but the beauty of it is that it can be used in a number of ways. Now as Ms R hasn't tested sex toys before she's wondering if she needs to do some mood setting.Hmm. Filthy man R has thoughtfully sent an email describing a scene of utter filth and depravity where she may be involved. Job done.

It's hard to tell how many speeds the Lelo Lily has exactly. It's very easy to use which is essential in a sex toy: you don't want to destroy the mood because you can't get the thing under control. The Lelo Lily has just two buttons. Press the right one for a good time. Press the left to quieten things down a bit. It is a buzzier type of vibrator so if you like longer, deeper pulses then it may not work for you. It took Ms R two goes to get it working the way she wanted it to but then we were friends.

You could stand up with this but it works when you're relaxing. Ms R tried using it as you would your fingers, moving it around. It is very subtle and if you're looking for the quick hit you get from a vibrator with sixteen tentacles, well you might have to wait a bit longer- but frankly, unless you're dead, you will come. And having a build up to orgasm does seem to increase the satisfaction. like real life.

If you're looking for something to give you a bit of extra stimulus while you're having penetrative sex, this will definitely do the trick. You can hold it on your clit while you're having sex or, better still, get your partner to do it for you. The shape means that it will stay where you put it. In fact what might be rather nice is that when you're on top you slip it between him and you (or whoever and you) and just enjoy those extra vibrations. On a noise scale of 1 to 10 with 10 being noisy, Ms R would put this at about a 3, max. Your flatmate won't hear it unless he/she is listening outside the door.

Lacking a suitable man to experiment with, Ms R decided to follow the maker's suggestion and use her Lelo Lily while sitting at her desk. You just tuck inside your knickers, put on your tightest skinny jeans (actually you don't even have to do that, unless you really need strong pressure). It felt comfortable, but it also rocked. Literally. Apologies for the misspelt email whoever got it...

Because it's small, elegant and discreet, Ms R can see the Lelo Lily as being a rather good 'starter' toy for women and couples who are put off by larger and tackier devices or who may have wanted to experiment with toys but were not sure where to start. For more experienced users the possibilities are endless: the shape and size both mean it's utterly portable.. you could have rather a lot of fun wearing it to a party or bar and keeping the secret to yourself for a while before letting your lover know.

All in all this is not a sex toy for when you want to feel like a cheap, filthy, wanton slut. It's more for those moments when you're lying back and thinking of..or enjoying the possibilities. Jo Divine are a delightful husband and wife team who aim to sell stylish sex toys and to this end they only stock about 50 product lines instead of the thousands that others do which Ms R thinks is a good sign. More information about the Lelo Lily can be found here


After all that Ms R is off for a post coital cigarette. She would supply a picture but she's not sure abou the anti-smoking laws as they apply to blogs..

This is not a blog post

It is a space dedicated to utter pointlessness and the fact that Ms R lacks both direction and purpose at present and is stuck on a metaphorical traffic island.

Should you wish to comment therefore, remember this is not a post and you cannot comment on it specifically, but are free to comment on anything else you wish.

Downloading the Dirt

That Cherie Blair has a big mouth is unfortunate. That she has chosen to open it and produce an an autobiography is even more so. Ms Robinson is not and has never been a fan of kiss and tell: exceptions may be made if one is being self-deprecating and amusing but Cherie is no Nancy Mitford. Moreover her confessions regarding love and admiration for her husband in the ickiest terms (sorry but there is no proper word to describe them), her first date sex (ickier) and the fact that she conceived little Leo because she was too embarrassed to pack contraception (how many teenagers would get away with that excuse and not be vilified?) when visiting the Queen, all smack of desperation. It's rather like she's saying, "I can be such a cool, slutty chick, just like the rest of you." (Yep, footballer's wives have nothing on you Chezza; all we need is a story about your threesome after a night in the West End and we're done). Add several layers of bitchiness about Gordon Brown and co, a final gloss of vindictiveness and any respect you have for the woman just gets swallowed up (sorry that coathanger mouth got in the way of Ms R's own judgement). Plus you have to ask: is this what you want to hear from a woman who reckons she'd make a great judge? Cue arguments about women being emotional and irrational and Ms R isn't going to argue in this case because they'd be right.

Ms R can understand that, when faced with a big cheque, there is a temptation to spill one's guts especially if you've got a past record of greed (yes you have Cherie). At a more earthly level she comprehends the desire to tell the world how you've been wronged even when you're not famous: your partner's done the dirty and now you want to get even; moreover you want everyone to see you getting even. And there lies the danger. How far will you go to restore what is, after all, pride? Because if it was just about being hurt you'd do what the rest of us do and fuck yourself through the pain to the other side. Or buy a red lipstick; the latter not requiring you to leave some god forsaken locale at 3am.

For some women the modern answer to revenge appears to be blogs and websites where they can display their venom in a supposed bid to feel better about themselves. Of course the net effect of such actions is anything but. Put it this way: when you're hurting the last thing you need is to play to your inferior (the shittiest part of your character) even more. The one guarantee with this behaviour is that the bad feelings will multiply like cancerous white cells until you are powerless to stop them. Before you know it you're the one who's toxic and untouchable and all those "you go sista" comments won't help a bit. It might've felt bad being tossed onto love's scrapheap but at least from there you had a chance of getting up: lowering yourself into the pits of revenge is a tough one to claw your way back up from.

Ms R is not one for public revenge. Sure she did punch a boy when she was eleven once but that was spur of the moment. (He called her 'ugly wog'). Years of being bullied at school for being slender, olive skinned and curly haired when to have freckles and pale skin and small convict eyes was attractive, meant that Ms R's vitriol was already well developed by the time she left school. Since then she has continued her policy of never saying behind a person's back what you can say to their face. If you can't look them in the eye and do it with dignity, then frankly you shouldn't bother. Telling everyone on Facebook that your lover has a small, crooked dick or that she dribbled when she gave blow jobs won't earn you points anyway: it will just confirm that you have poor judgement, as well as a lack of courage. It's worth remembering when you next feel like putting prawns into someone's hubcaps or sewing them into the bottom of their curtain lining. Both apparently work very well.*

On the other hand there is every chance that the person you're no longer seeing has chosen to kiss and tell in a most complimentary way. After going out with the music industry coke fiend in Sydney years ago, Ms R was abandoned for yet another sweetie in the pick n'mix. It was her first experience of going out with (all we did was fuck really) a real player and, being in her twenties, she was bewildered rather than upset. All that faded however when she met a friend of his a few months later who said,"Paul told me about you."

"Oh no," thought Ms R. "What did he say," she asked.

"He said you were really good in the sack."

Kiss and Tell: it rocks.



*Ms R has never tried it and takes no responsibility. Remember small children can choke on nuts. Do not try this at home. The value of your investment can go up as well as down.

Show us the money Carrie

Competition winners: In conjunction with the former Mr R, (who is himself blonde and blue eyed) Ms R has had a look at the entries and feels that while credit must go to Duck for a great take on a well known exchange and Timmy Worstall for his topicality on London Mayoral elections and Boris, it is Angela la la and Misssy M who are joint winners. Although obvious they both reflected what many participants were actually saying. We shall have to organise some sort of prize. Emails shall be forthcoming.


Unlike various media commentators who've portrayed it as a Great Leap Forward for women, Ms R is not convinced that the televison series of Sex and the City was any more than disposable TV; four women with mountains of cash, contacts and clothes met in expensive restaurants and discussed how hard their lives were. If that isn't fantasy, what is?

The title of the series was itself misleading: save for Samantha, there wasn't that much sex, not on screen anyway. Mostly they talked about it. And in terms of Ms R's own experience Samantha wasn't doing anything more than most confident, single girls who enjoy sex have always done, although she did discuss it volubly. The one thing that SATC wasn't about was men. For four supposedly intelligent women, men appeared to be a huge mystery. Sure this was partly the premise of the lead character's column, nonetheless they spent an inordinate amount of time discussing their inability to understand them but not really trying to. Let's be clear here: the women Ms R knows do not spend entire evenings discussing men. Even when disappointed the conversation will usually go like this.

"He was a knob."

"My husband's being one lately."

"They all are." End of.

While the popular myth is that the show got women talking about relationships and sex (do we need a TV show to do that?), Ms R and her friends were mystified by Carrie's (Sarah Jessica Parker) finances. How could a columnist for a NY tabloid afford to leave the house daily wearing around $5000 worth of clothes? She paid her rent in Manhattan, drank $25 cocktails and took cabs everywhere. It didn't add up.

They spent many hours trying to work it out.

"Ok let's say she makes about $100,000 a year."

"No, no let's say "$150,000..maybe she was poached from her first paper?"

"Ok she buys at least two pairs of Choos or Blahnik's every week. That's around US $1400. $5,600 a month before the Gucci, Westwood and Oscar De La Renta clothes at around $3000 a throw.

"It's entirely possible; everyone in Manhattan maxes out their credit cards."

"It's just a fucking TV show."

"What about the apartment; it's huge?"

"Rent controlled."

"Still her outgoings have got to be minimum around $100,000 a year..."

"Yeah but hang on she gets free entry to clubs 'cos she knows lots of people..plus they probably send over drinks.."

"Fair point..you never see them paying the bill."

"Maybe the fashion PR's send her stuff..you know 'cos she's a columnist?"

"Still doesn't add up..."

"Blokes buying her stuff..."

"She never has blokes for long enough..she's always with her mates...no time to fuck for gifts..."

Then it got desperate

"Let's start with one pair of shoes a week.. and $200,000 a year..."

Win Ms Robinson. Sort of

Competition winners: In conjunction with the former Mr R, (who is himself blonde and blue eyed) Ms R has had a look at the entries and feels that while credit must go to Duck for a great take on a well known exchange and Timmy Worstall for his topicality on London Mayoral elections and Boris, it is Angela la la and Misssy M who are joint winners. Although obvious they both reflected what many participants were actually saying. We shall have to organise some sort of prize.


If that evil barrister, Geeklawyer can have competitions on his supposedly 'Law' blog then so can Ms R. Frankly Geeklawyer has been neglecting his flirting duties with Ms R of late on the pretext that he is doing fee paying work(and trying to persuade Ruthie to marry him) but Ms R thinks he's just been out trying to get some of that sunny honey that has suddenly appeared in the high street. Why, when he could have this?

Anyway enough of that n'er do well. Today while Ms R was strolling amongst the cream of teenage council estate mums in Islington, she glanced upon a headline on a woman's magazine at the local newstand. It was a headline that caught her eye for it suggested an immediate answer and then some.

So she has decided to offer it to you as a competition. The prize: well you get to request. It can't be monetary since Ms R is currently in overdraft and avoiding those calls from Bangalore pretending to be her bank manager. So the prize is up to your creativity and Ms R's own limits of what she will do. Tea and cake is a given. It may be a blog post. It may be a date (Ms R is heterosexual remember). Or you may wish to join the clamour for Ms R to wear her Busy Bee pyjamas. Who knows? Ms R's approval may well be enough for you. After all, very few people ever receive it.

The headline as follows:

Do Blondes Make Men Stupid?

The competition: Best, most witty, short and clever response to the headline.


Disclaimer: This is no way implies that Ms R thinks men are stupid at all. The value of a man's brain can go up as well as down. Ms R thinks that men always act as completely rational beings, in all situations and would be loathe to even consider they might want a woman based on hair colour.

Seriously, you're having a fucking laugh

Here at the Dictatorship we apologise for the lack of blogging but, like the little people, we've been enjoying the May ( thank you Helga for reminding me) sunshine. Unfortunately the unseasonally warm weather seems to have coincided with the wholesale removal of full-length mirrors from houses across the land. How else to explain grown men in three quarter length shorts and baseball caps, seemingly borrowed from their teenage sons? Along with the first grey bra straps of summer this has got your beloved dictator considering taking up waterboarding in a more chic locale. Oppressing attractive people has got to be more satisfying, surely?


When not admiring her own tanned olive skin and unfailing sense of style, Ms Robinson has been amusing herself reading about celebrities who want 'to be taken seriously.' This pathetic lament is usually to be found coming out of the mouths of actors following either a prolonged bout with the marching powder or a run of box office stinkers. Or just because they can. They're all at it and you know who I mean: Aston Kutcher is the latest one to give the mandatory 'thoughtful' interview. Frankly he's just so earnest about his approach to life with Demi it makes you feel shallow, not to mention just a teeny bit worried that in a couple of years he'll wake up and go looking for his lost youth.

Call Ms R a spoilsport but she reckons that if you're paid monumental amounts of money to PRETEND to be someone else on screen then it's a fair clue that people don't really want to know about your desire to be taken seriously. Really, we don't. In effect there is only so much seriosity (TM) to go round and once you get actors and people who strum guitars trying to get some, it upsets the natural order of things. No, a civilised society depends on everything in its place. And when the non serious want to go serious, it fucks it up for everyone else. There is more than enough seriosity (TM) in the world; in other words truly thoughtful and clever people and we don't need people pretending to be serious.

Should you be in any doubt about the dangers of those who want to be taken seriously, I will say only one word: Bono. The very symbol of where pretensions to seriosity (TM) may eventually lead. As much as Ms R tries to remember he was the guy that sang Gloria all those years ago, whenever she looks at him or hears his name all she can think now is "Yeah Red Amex cards, that'll fix the Third World and if all else fails we can build huts out of them." Ms R doesn't want to hear George Clooney go on about Darfur, sorry but she doesn't. She doesn't want to hear Gwyneth whine about the work/life balance and how motherhood is very precious. She just wants them to shut the fuck up.

That threesome question - again

Ok people the Dictator knows we have discussed this but a new reader popped up on an earlier post wondering about the whole threesome thing. And Ms R knows you all have views on this so together (for this is an Order, not an Option) we may be able to help her and many others who are looking through the To Do list of sexual permutations and combinations and thinking, "Hmm will that add to my understanding of the human condition, improve my work/life balance and my knowledge of dialetical reasoning and Hegel?"

Fundamentally the gist of her request was familiar: She's in a relationship with a bloke who's suddenly got all excited 'cos his mate had a threesome for his birthday. Why the fuck isn't he happy with a birthday cake and a blow job? That's all he'd get from Ms R. Actually not a full-sized birthday cake: a cupcake.

But no, his mate has been mouthing off no doubt telling him how the experience added immeasurably to their relationship and how it has brought them closer together..yeah, yeah, right. In three months his partner will run off with his best friend with whom she is beginning an affair right now.

Ok Ms R's position is clear: she has only consented to, nay, dictated MMF threesomes. They are of course the best kind. In truth the Dictator does not believe such adventures are good for relationships. Emotions are fluid things: what you feel one moment rapidly changes the next. We may think we are secure but there are very few people who are secure enough to allow a third person into their relationship...knowingly.

Some readers may disagree but Ms R thinks such things should never be combined with a relationship, ever. They are best combined with idle moments in life where you're not with someone, you find yourself in a hotel with 600 thread count sheets and top quality Class A drugs and there are no emotions involved.

Lady, whoever you are, whatever you do you must do for your own reasons. He has no idea how you will feel and, in all likelihood, no idea how he will feel. Like many men he is only thinking of the immediate gratification; consequences are light years away. But right after the event they will enter your universe and hurtle towards you in a meteoric shower.

At the base of this is sexual boredom perhaps, an inevitable fact of life. There are more boring things. Carrot and coriander soup. And men who think that every fantasy should be acted upon. That of course is the danger: once you acquiesce, he may then think it's just a short step to posting your pic on a swinging website. And before you know it you're in a house with chintz sofas, china dogs and fat couples sweating in PVC and synthetic lace. (Ugh Ms R felt dirty just even thinking about it.)

It would be good if your response to this question could pass into history as easily as the "No thanks" to watching the football but it won't. Because now he's put you in a difficult situation where he is saying "Do this for me" and in effect blackmailing you into feeling guilty if you don't.

But what he's not thinking about is "Us" and that, my dear, is what you need to think about. After you've thought of you of course. And if he doesn't understand that, then dump him.

Truth and Illusion

A man and woman go out on a date. They could be anywhere in the world. They could be any age but let's put them in their thirties so they have a bit of experience behind them and just as much in front of them. It doesn't matter where they go; they go where people go but let's call it dinner. They are both intelligent people and each has been looking forward to this evening.

As with most first dates, it starts off slowly but then warms up. Soon they're happily chatting about current affairs, cities, music, the food they're eating. It's fair to say that this has gone pretty well. Neither food nor drink nor secrets have been spilt. The evening comes to a close. They kiss; it's a kiss on the lips but not like a huge passionate kiss or anything. He helps her get a cab and they part, agreeing that it was fun.

Next day the woman can hardly wait to phone her friend. She has a big project on at work but she finds time to sneak into a quiet corner at around 10.30 and calls her pal. She is bursting to tell her about the evening. Oh, if you're interested in time it was about three hours, the date that is. Her friend has been waiting for her call.

"How did it go?"

"Oh it was amazing."

"Really, wow. What's he like?"

"He's so interesting and he has views on so many things; you know we talked for hours (three, but they ate too). It was the best conversation I've had in ages."

"Are you going to see him again?"

"Well I hope so."

"What, don't you like him?"

"God, I fancy him so much. And don't tell anyone else but I think he really fancies me."

"Oh that's great. I'm so pleased for you."

"So did you kiss him?"

"Yes. He was so sweet and tender, like he really meant it."

"What like a big snog?"

"No, but it was pretty special."

"So you reckon this might turn into something?"

"Honestly we're so compatible. We just agreed on everything. So much in common."

"He obviously likes you."

"Do you think?"

"Sure. He kissed you but didn't try and hustle you into bed. That means he really likes you."

"I guess he must. I hope he calls today."

"I bet he does. He can't not call after an evening like that."

"Do you think I should email him and thank him?"

"Well yes you could."

"Maybe I could text...?"

Blah, blah..(.continues in this fashion for another ten minutes)

Meanwhile, a few miles away in another workplace a man is working. He's got a huge deal on and he's pretty busy. He hasn't even got time to look at his emails but he manages to leave by nine and have a drink with his mate.

They talk about work, about football, about stuff. At some point his friend says,

"Did you go out with that girl?"

"Who..oh you mean Sophie? Yeah."

"How was it?"

"Good. She's a nice girl."

"Great."

At that point they stop talking about his date with Sophie, because there's nothing more to say. Really, there isn't.

Prisoners of love

NB: If you are visiting from Hereisthecity.com then you can find more answers to the important questions in life in the sidebar under 'New Visitors.'

If you are a regular reader and wonder where the most recent post went, Ms R suggests you visit here to see what she's been doing, and why she's had to shift recent posts around to align her blog with the site.

Meanwhile, if you're an investment banker and you're twiddling your thumbs then Ms R would like you to know she and a pal are working on a novel and need some information from you for a rather splendid idea.

Seriously. Ms R's email is in the sidebar. There is no payment. We are in a credit crunch remember. You started it but we won't mention it. Promise.

It is with some mirth that Ms Robinson notes the intention of authorities in the Netherlands to set up a website enabling women to date a convict. Apparently ‘prisoners with partners are less likely to reoffend’ hence the desire to find them a nice girl to go out with.

While this might not exactly be the sort of man you can bring home to your mum, those behind the idea rightly point out that women will be under no illusions about what they are getting from the start: a criminal. Ms R agrees there is a degree of honesty in this not seen in the usual dating website: how many of you have answered an ad placed by a lush babe or sane sounding bloke to find you were being led up a thorn infested garden path?

Still there are bound to be some tricky moments, first dates being what they are.

The convict emails the girl to ask for a date.

“Sure I’m pretty free at the moment" she replies. "What about you?"

“I’m not really free. Well except for two hours on Thursday when they let me out.”

“Ok, I’ll see you then. Where shall we meet?”

“Would you be able to come here? I can't really go anywhere.”

They sit on a couple of plastic chairs in the prisoner’s canteen. Naturally they start talking about themselves.

“So, umm, what do you do?" she asks.

“Well not very much. (And then brightly) Laundry, mainly. And whatever they tell me to."

“Do you have brothers and sisters?”

“I did have three…”

“What happened?”

“I killed them.”

Things go quiet for a moment but the young lady is determined to see the good side of her new friend.

“So umm what do you want to do in the future, you know when you get out?"

“Well I was thinking of doing an armed robbery with some of the guys...”

Doesn't really leave you much room to manoeuvre does it?