To the slew of fetishists the blog title is bound to drag in from google: no, this is not about fucking actual eyeballs. Try a tenga egg.

For those that don’t follow me on twitter, I unfortunately found out on Wednesday that my original eye surgery on New Years Day hasn’t fully “taken” as it was supposed to, and I’m going to have to go in for another, more invasive surgery called a vitrectomy. I’m not scared, the doctors that are seeing to me are all excellent surgeons, but the whole ordeal has made me consider how much of my body I take for granted.

As it stands, I have a black shadow over about a quarter of the vision in my right eye, among other problems. I see the world in a dream-like half fuzziness, an effect that would be almost nice if it weren’t for the constant nausea and headaches – imagine seeing the blair witch project with half a pair of 3D glasses and you have a general idea of my worldview.

However, I’m not writing this to bitch about my health problems – folks have it far worse, and in fact an old friend is waiting on a cancer biopsy as I type.  I’m writing this to beg all of you out there – if you have a black spot in your vision, don’t wait. Go to the doctor’s immediately. I put mine off a week, and what might have been a $2000, 15 minute laser surgery ended up escalating to what now stands to be three major surgeries, $100k of medical bills, and what will be almost a year to full recovery. It’s just not worth it – a retinal specialist costs maybe $200 for an office visit, and that’s a hell of a lot more affordable than the mess I’m trudging through. Please take care of yourselves, take care of your eyes – step away from the computer every few hours and give your eyes a break. This craziness has taught me to value the vision I have, and to understand that sight is something I should be grateful for, not take for granted.

-T.C.

I had a great, stable childhood until about eleven, when my parents split and all hell broke loose. Multiple moves, ducking county tax collectors, living in condemned houses, chasing off drunk suitors of my mother’s, and constantly being on the run from DYFS agents were the events that studded my life just prior to puberty. Add that to the fact that the vast majority of my sentimental belongings vanished in an uncanny trifecta of a robbery, major flood, and a storage unit catching on fire and you have one twitchy kid. In the ruckus, I mentally imbued the area around the house I grew up in with a mystical quality, a sort of transitory Avalonic Isle in the middle of the tiniest tip of southern New Jersey. It’s been ten years since I last set foot there, mostly because I’m terrified of the heartbreak that facing that change – and all the condo development that went with it – can bring. I have always sought out sanctuaries. It’s my first thought when travelling or setting down roots somewhere new; often I care less about the habitation itself and more that there must be a forest-like place nearby to abscond to if the walls feel a little too close.

About nine years ago, I met a guy on a personals site right around New Years. He ended up inviting me to his New Year’s party, I ended up going, and I ended up staying. His room was big, wide, and sparse, and so was the bed in it.  A few metal band posters dotted the broad expanses of walls, and his bed had a lot of mismatched pillows. I was expecting he’d want to have sex, and I was alright with that, with protection in my purse at the ready. I was single and in between any real prospects, so a fling sounded like just the thing to kick off the new year with. We were absent, however, the lightning-charged franticness that usually accompanies pre-sex..instead there was a soft, comfortable feel of old friends that had been-there-done-that and had no real need to revisit. And so it was, with no real talking, we ended up stripping down to our underthings, crawling into bed together, and holding one another like he was getting deployed in the morning. Never before or since has a man held me through the night like that – an embrace born of absolutely nothing but wanting to give and receive comfort and companionship.

Perhaps unique but unremarkable as it’s own event, it actually became one that repeated throughout the months afterward, now and again. I’d call, he would pull up to my house in his beat-up Skylark and honk twice, and we’d go back to his place. We’d sometimes watch a Terminator movie with his friends before trudging upstairs with peaceful hearts, knowing we wouldn’t sleep without companionship tonight. His roommates elbowed and smirked when we were down in the living room, driven by social norms make the usual good-natured jokes, but we never bothered to correct them…we were literally sleeping together, and it was enough that we knew. It was a hard time in my life, a lonely time, and an unsure time…but I’d close my eyes and think about that wide bed in the wide, quiet room, and my nerves would settle.

I heard, years later, he was dating and infatuated with a girl named Summer, so told by his joking, jostling roommates. He was never mine, but I felt a little sadness, knowing settling into those mismatched pillows alongside him was no longer a possibility. Still, of all the things I felt when I’d heard he moved on after we drifted apart, the most powerful was gratitude. He gave me peace without expectation, love without lust, and most of all, he gave me sanctuary.

To be clear – we all engage in back and forth banter sometimes, internet puffery where we beat our metaphorical chests. I always feel a little ashamed when I’m baited into it, because I know I should know better. It’s digital words in a digital format, and at the end of the day, it’s all a “I just shot you, nuh-uh I have super armor, nuh-uh you don’t” kind of childhood throwback; nothing is solved and everyone’s all riled up about it. It should be avoided whenever possible, and if you feel it can’t, read what you’re about to say out loud before posting it…this is actually quite an effective deterrent to being drawn into drama.

Also, the internet is not, and never will be, anonymous. The very nature of the world wide web is its interconnectedness; the reason we can pull so much relevant information up so quickly is BECAUSE of those lines, those strings that draw a digital highway between A and B. It may be a little more trouble to find some people than others, and you might not be able to do certain searches unless you are a law enforcement officer, but you’d better believe that if someone wants to find you badly enough or for the right reasons, they can. You’re not safe, you’re not anonymous, and you shouldn’t put anything publically out there you wouldn’t be okay writing on your T-shirt.

Once you’ve got those two down, this last one’s important – don’t say something in a preservable digital format if you wouldn’t say it to their face, with figures of authority within earshot. Logs can be saved, screenshots can be snapped, ISPs can be subpoenaed in extreme cases. This goes doubly for threats of physical violence, and triply for threats that call out where and when they will occur.  I tangled with an unfortunately misguided person this morning who felt he was protected from retribution – by his incomprehensible grammar, his X-box live, or his general obliviousness I don’t know – but he said a few things that constituted a threat to an industry person of note I happen to know.  This was unacceptable, not only for Sinnamon, but for the sake of all the performers out there…by performing, you are only agreeing to show your body to those that purchase your videos, pictures, or subscriptions – you are NOT agreeing or expected to endure harrassment, unwanted advances, or physical threats. Ever.

If this is happening to you on twitter, performer or not, don’t stand for it. People like the harassing tweeter who are not nipped in the proverbial bud will only get more vocal…and it may escalate to something worse and much more real if left unchecked.

XKCD comic about internet arguments

Rumors and News:

• I’ve written California Exotics at every contact point I have for them in an attempt to get to the bottom of what “Japanese Medical Grade Silicone” is, as compared to “regular” medical grade silicone here in the US. I’ll keep you posted on what response they give me.
• Sadly, it appears Jollies Pleasure Toys is folding, according to a facebook message from the founder. Their lovely toys and designs (not the least of which is the innovative Mr. Man Dildo so loved by many) will be sorely missed in an industry that thrives on talent.
• Whipspider Rubberworks was murmuring about new things to come at the R.I. Fetish Flea, and they may or may not involve more tentacles. We anxiously await!

I love light up toys. Call me a child of the ’80s, but I had a PJ Sparkles doll that I still think is the best toy ever. If it glows in the dark, flashes, strobes, or lights up, chances are I’m just as crazy about it now as I was in my youth. Sure, the…er…shape and intention of the toys have changed somewhat, but it doesn’t mean they’re any less awesome.

1.) The Ophoria Glo Dildo – this Japanese Medical Grade silicone dildo previously made an appearance on my Weird Sex Toys Of The Week series. The inside is hollow, and plugged with a cap, the idea being that a skinny glowstick (think the kinds they make bracelets out of at birthday parties) is inserted into the inner chamber to “glow” through the opaque material. Guess this is an ideal choice for the modern Glomosexual…unfortunately, it appears to have been discontinued from Ophoria , as it is no longer on their website.

2.) The Big O Glow – anyone who knows me knows I’m a rabid fan of the original Big O – a vibrating cock ring that works amazingly well. So, now…there’s a light in it. So, if the couple is doing it missionary, I sort of wonder if it looks like a blinking car alarm light from the woman’s (or receiver, in general) perspective. $17.95, here.

3.) The Fleshlight Vibro Glow – This is kinda neat, and the reason I thought of putting up this mini showcase. They announced this on twitter today, with only 1,000 available ($94.95). If you miss out, you can also just pair an ice fleshlight of your choice up ($69.95) with a Screaming O Glow bullet ($12.95) – it looks to be the same thing, although I don’t think STU texture is typically available in ice and it is cheaper as a bundle because it comes with three bullets.