“That was quick,” Pam exclaimed, turning up the stroke length and speed. After experimenting, I found that I could make the tube barely clear the end of my cock and then grab back on for the downstroke. The sensation was a lot like getting head. The tube was even making loud sucking sounds. As I got closer to orgasm, I lowered the air supply to allow the sheath to approximate “deep throat” sucking.
Then, just as I began to come, I drew the tube back, increasing the speed to get a series of “grab-on” sucks, one right after the other, until I climaxed.
During the next few days, we put Accu-Jac through all of its paces. I found that the tighter sleeves simulated intercourse, and that the ribbed and expanded-end sleeves felt like a hand or a thumb and forefinger stroking me. Some of the sleeves reminded me of past girlfriends, because of either their fit or the slick, soft or rhythmic sensations they produced. I named a few of them, though I never said to my wife: “No, not Vivian. Give me Gina and, uh, Patty-Anne.”
Pam was turned on not only by what Accu-Jac did for her, but by the sexual rejuvenation it was causing in me. Overnight I had once again become the horny, hop-in-the-sack-anytime male she had married a long time ago.
She was especially intrigued by how quickly my cock got hard—and how big. Within a few days it seemed to grow noticeably. I liked being able to get good sex with little effort whenever I wanted it. Since I could depend on the sleeve to always give me an erection, I found myself wanting sex about five times a day.
Within a week Pam was too sore to sit down and the end of my cock looked like it had terminal sunburn. Skin was beginning to peel. Just like old times, I reflected, as I gently applied the Vaseline. The only cure was to leave the machine alone for a week. We sent away for more Astroglide, which is expensive ($9.95 per bottle) but worth it. The lubricant was easy to clean off the equipment and ourselves, and was not only flavorless but harmless if ingested.
Over the next few months we tried all of the variations. Pam preferred the bellows dildo for a slow, comfortable screw. As it was held between the thighs, any movement caused the dildo to slip out.
The piston-powered dildo was usable either with or without its harness. Occasionally I made love to Pam by holding the plastic cylinder between my legs and letting her control the speed and depth. At other times Pam and I made love and then she continued with the machine after I came. Occasionally she started with the machine, came to orgasm and then invited me in for “seconds.” On some nights she switched back and forth from me to Accu-Jac. She also never had “enough” anymore.
I used all the sheaths: ribbed, tapered-in, tapered-out, bent, tight $$$, vibrating, coke bottle and standard, which was supposed to $$$mulate actual intercourse. I gave them names of my own: handjob, oddjob, blowjob, humjob, loose shoes and, of course, tight pussy.
I also fantasized about women I knew. The 19-year-old college girl across the street worked her way from the ribbed (handjob) sleeve to the loose (mild blowjob) model to humjob (vibrating sleeve). Eventually I used tight pussy (a tapered sleeve) to relieve sexy little Janice of her virginity.
I also discovered a pleasant way to get off while holding up the latest Pet of the Month centerfold with
both
hands.
Other advantages of the machine were that it never got tired or complained of sore wrist or aching jaw. Afterward I never had to whisper, “Was it good for you?” or “Did you come?” It could give an unrivaled 30-minute handjob that kept me exactly a degree below my boiling point for as long as I could stand it. Its steady, unvarying rhythm was perfectly tuned to Pam's inner harmonies for hours at a time.
“It's not as good as a cock,” Pam said, when I asked her what she really thought about Accu-Jac. “But it sure is better than a vibrator. I prefer a man, but the machine does give me a sense of absolute pleasure. No matter what happens—if the phone rings or there's a knock on the door—this cock isn't going to go down. And it isn't going to come before you do or tell you that your orgasm is taking too long and making it tired.
“The dildo moves with so much of the rhythm of real intercourse that it is just the most incredibly luxurious masturbation you could imagine. Plus you're completely in control of your own fantasies. You control angle and depth of penetration, intensity and perfect placement, without asking your partner to be a contortionist.”
One time I came home early from a business meeting to find my wife in her underwear. “Hi,” she said nervously, trying to hide something behind her on the bathroom sink. I peeked. Oh, looky! It's Mr. Dildo. And Mr. Cylinder! “I was just … washing a few things out,” she added, shrugging. “You never said we had to use
it together.
”
It was a damned funny feeling; but why shouldn't she use the Accu-Jac alone? It was the perfect
harmless
affair. What was I going to do? Shoot the machine?
“Can I have seconds?” I asked.
She dropped Aztec Dick into the sink and winked. “I was hoping you'd say that.”
A few nights later I asked her if she wanted to try anal sex with the Accu-Jac. In the past we had never had much success with this form of lovemaking.
“You know what would really put me at ease?” she said. “For you to do it first.”
I consider myself fairly liberal sexually, but never would I let any man stick his cock up my ass. I can't even look my proctologist in the eye afterward. So again I passed. This was one barrier Accu-Jac did not help us get over.
Eventually we mentioned our acquisition to our closest friends. Some jokingly asked whether we would rent it out or bring it to the next company picnic. When we told a gay woman friend about Accu-Jac, she said it was a shame it did not have an attachment for female oral sex. “Never mind,” she said. “You let me at that machine. I can get all the female oral sex I want. But a stiff dick—without the actual hassle of dealing with a man—is something else again. I like what men can do. I'm just not crazy about what they put you through before and after.” When we went on vacation later, we loaned the machine to her.
I wondered if we would miss Accu-Jac, since it had become a regular—though by no means constant—part of our sex lives. I got my answer the third night in our lakefront cabin. I had a sex dream. About the machine.
FOAMING AT THE MOUTH
By Adrian Buffet
My first date with Linda had gone surprisingly well—much better than a Horny Guy could expect after six weeks of bad luck. Not only did I wangle a nightcap at her place, but I soon found myself wrapped around her naked body on the brink of some serious love-making. Considering the circumstances, I paid little attention when Linda excused herself and slipped into the bathroom. For all I knew, she was rearranging her mascara or flossing her teeth.
The mood quickly returned as soon as Linda bounced back onto our four-poster playground. As the foreplay shifted into high gear, my old skills resurfaced with amazing swiftness. I slid down Linda's smooth body, caressed her stomach, ran my tongue tantalizingly around her light brown pubic hair, and then buried my nose in her crotch as forcefully as possible without deviating a septum.
Surfacing for air, I noticed a slight medicinal odor between her legs. But Linda was wriggling, cooing and moaning so contentedly that my normal street-smart instincts had gone on hold. I began to make my tongue into her vagina again. In the heat of passion, I was unaware of the mouthwash tingle numbing my tongue and neutralizing my taste buds. Like the average dumb Horny Guy, I probably would have ignored herpes to make the Big Score.
I put the pieces together afterward. Linda's little trip to the bathroom was not to freshen up. She had inserted a plastic syringe into her vagina and fired a round of contraceptive foam onto her vaginal walls. Dwelling on that image, I wondered what the foam could do to a man who slurps down a mouthful like whipped cream and comes back for seconds. If the contraceptive is potent enough to wipe out a few million sperm on contact, how does it affect a fellow's taste buds or digestive tract?
I was mad. Linda should have warned me about the spermicide. If the foam was safe to swallow, why did she turn her head when I kissed her goodbye? I called her the next day.
“How would I know it tastes terrible?” she replied indignantly. I protested that she should have read the label for warnings and informed her partner. We were having our first fight. She dropped the phone and got the package.
“There's nothing on here about eating the stuff,” she reported, “but I'm sure the government would not permit the company to make the spermicide if it were dangerous to eat.” I asked if she ever heard of Red Dye No. 2, and told her that my taste buds had nearly short-circuited. “So what's the alternative, bimbo?” she huffed. “Fatherhood?” Linda hung up, ending the conversation and our relationship.
Nevertheless, my quest for the truth about foam continued. When I complained about my encounter to the guys at a local pub, I was surprised to learn that quite a few had felt the same confusion. Like me, they were riled. All of them agreed that a woman should tell the man when she has foamed up. But none had considered the possibility that swallowing spermicide was dangerous. After much speculation based on total ignorance and fueled by a few more rounds of Lowenbrau (the official Horny Guy brew), my friends charged me with the task of investigating the dreaded foam.
My first stop was a local apothecary. Pharmacist Paul Perniciaro escorted me to the “Feminine Needs” section and explained that the active ingredient in contraceptive foam is nonoxynol. The spermicidal property of this common emulsifier—belonging to a class called surfactants normally used to hold a mixture of oil and water together—was discovered in 1961. No one knows exactly why it destroys sperm cells. The different brands of foam included Koromex, Because, Emko, Delfen and Semicid. Actually, as Perniciaro pointed out, Semicid is not a foam, but rather a suppository that “effervesces like Alka Seltzer” when inserted in the vagina.
There were no references to oral sex on the packages. The only warning was on a box of Emko: “If vaginal or penile irritation occurs and continues, a physician should be consulted.”
“My God,” I said to Perniciaro, “if it can irritate skin, what would it do to a tongue?” He suggested I talk with Dr. John Zuzack of the St. Louis College of Pharmacy, where the first foam—Emko—was developed.
When I explained my purpose, Dr. Zuzack laughed. “That's a new one on me,” he said. “But I imagine that if you ingested enough foam, it would serve as a laxative. Foam is chemically related to laundry detergent, and would lubricate your G.I. tract. Eating the foam might be a problem only for someone with a delicate or nervous stomach.” However, Dr. Zuzack noted that research on the ingestion of foam was not extensive.
Next I telephoned Leonard Naeger, another pharmacologist at the St. Louis College of Pharmacy, who also assisted in the creation of the first foam. He wryly observed that his fellow researchers had discovered an alternative use for the spermicide. “We also found it effective for athlete's foot,” he informed me, “and that's what we used it for.” I remarked that anything that kills fungi could not be too wonderful to swallow. But Naeger disagreed. “You could probably eat the whole thing without causing any irreversible damage to your taste buds,” he said. “It may desensitize them for a little while, but so what?”
I asked Naeger why manufacturers did not produce flavored foam. “As a joke,” he replied, “when we were students, we were going to use fruit flavors. We even came up with a name—Statutory Grape.” I thought about the possibilities. Maybe even a flavor of the month—Penis Colada in June; Harvey Ballbanger in July.
The manufacturers apparently do not want to acknowledge that women, God forbid, submit to cunnilingus while using the foam. This attitude explains why oral sex is not mentioned in brochures or on labels—nothing about terrible taste, numb mouth or laxative effects. “We know it's not toxic,” said a spokesman for Schering-Plough Corporation of Kennelsworth, New Jersey, which bought Emko in the late 70s, “so why should there be a warning?”
Contraceptive foam was invented by a company that makes sharpening tools. Emko was the brainchild of the late Joe Sunnen, founder of the St. Louis-based Sunnen Products Company, known the world over for its quality honing machines.
Joe Sunnen was a prominent industrialist and philanthropist in his day. He owned 50 patents in the automotive field and perfected the modern hypodermic syringe. With financial success came Sunnen's desire to help the poor. Population control became his passion. During a visit to a wretched barrio in Puerto Rico in 1957, Sunnen had an idea that he thought would revolutionize birth control: a simple, inexpensive, mass-marketed aerosol foam that would act as a barrier to conception. When he could not interest pharmaceutical companies, he decided to produce it himself.
Sunnen commissioned the chemists at the St. Louis College of Pharmacy to fulfill his dream. Professor Arthur Zimmer, one of the analysts, noted that the foam was originally intended as a barrier alone and that the spermicidal action of nonoxynol was a complete surprise. Zimmer explained that nonoxynol invades the spermatozoa and blows them to bits. “They literally swell up and burst,” he said. Why this chemical has this effect is still a mystery.
But, stressed Zimmer, just because the foam detonates sperm cells and knocks out athlete's foot does not mean that it lays waste taste buds or digestive bacteria. “I have never ingested foam myself,” he said, “but I'm willing to bet that it is not much different from eating shaving cream.” Which is not a Horny Guy's idea of fun on a Saturday night, either.
Dan Becker, a former Sunnen Products employee, was also eager to tell me foam stories. “When they first got into birth control,” he recalled, “the scientists were using samples from male prostitutes, seeing what would kill sperm. They found this one guy who had sperm that wouldn't die …”
After Emko went on the market in the mid-60s, the biggest problem the company had was designing illustrated instructions. “They couldn't devise a simplified graphic, so people misused the product,” Becker said. “We'd get letters saying, ‘I took three teaspoons and still got pregnant …’”