My boyfriend and I have been together for two years now, and have achieved near-total familiarity with each other’s bodies and desires. You’d think this familiarity would be a good thing, but Googling “how to keep the spark alive” tells me that for most couples, it’s a problem. I can sort of see the logic of this even if I don’t experience it that way. We no longer have that feral need to fuck five times in one sitting because we don’t know when we’re going to see each other again, for example. If I want to see him again, all I usually have to do is look across the room — hardly a recipe for erotic longing.
Still, Dr. Google’s advice on the matter was depressing. “Schedule intimacy dates” was rational enough, but the idea of bringing my iCal into my sex life was a bummer. “Surprise him at work” isn’t particularly applicable when “him” works on a jobsite two hours away — who wants to shlep out to Middle of Nowhere, NJ, only to take a stray rebar to the puss and be out of commission for weeks? As for “hire a sex coach,” my bedroom only has enough room for one creepy broad in a caftan, thank you very much. I had all but given up on the idea of inflicting poorly considered sex therapy on my boyfriend when I learned about Clitter.
Clitter by Fizzin Bath Bombs purports to be a “novelty water-based lube with a glitter bomb,” exactly the kind of low-effort, high-reward shit I was looking for. Surprise your man with an extra flamboyant creampie today! Serve cunt while you serve cunt! It also comes all the way from Australia, meaning that by the time my Clitter arrived, I’d forgotten I ordered it. FAQs about the product include: “Can I use your products while pregnant or breastfeeding?”, “Are the Clitter capsules even safe?” and, my favorite, “How do the Clitter capsules even work?!” (interrobang very much sic).
How they work is: Thrill seekers insert a rather beautiful orchid-colored capsule into their hole of choice up to two hours before, uh, use.
I obeyed, and proceeded to ask my boyfriend which sexy role-play scenario would most effectively rev his engine while we waited for the suppository’s casing to dissolve:
- Virginal milkmaid encounters well-hung stable boy while struggling to carry her load.
- Sexy, worldly contessa seduces Rudolfo the chauffeur during a routine drive.
- A third option not from Mel Brooks’ 1967 comedy The Producers starring Zero Mostel and Gene Wilder.
“Jesus Christ, three,” he said in a tone that strongly suggested he’d believed until this moment that he was out of the woods with this MEL shit. I told him I’d take his response under advisement and laid on my back with my legs in the air.
“What are you doing?” he asked, less curious than plaintive.
“They tell you to do this after you get cummed in if you want to get pregnant,” I explained. “Maybe it’ll also help ensure maximum glitter distribution.” I then reminded him that all this was going to help us keep the spark alive, since he was starting to seem weirdly ungrateful.
Some notes on Clitter’s parent company Fizzin Bath Bombs while we wait for the walls of the suppository to melt into my walls: It is, as far as I can tell from a casual glance at their products, the best website in the whole world. They sell lots of bath bombs and other bath products, which does nothing for me. I only use my bathtub to wash my dog, and she’s never indicated that she’d prefer the whole traumatic encounter to include lime-green coconut-scented bathwater. (Although, edible peanut butter bath bomb for dogs? Someone get me a scientist and a patent, stat!)
The real magic of Fizzin is in its Adults Only section, which is like if Spencer’s Gifts had a baby out of wedlock with Lush and refused to acknowledge the little bastard. Oh the magic of these adult novelties! We’ve got an enormous cock-shaped soap that’s blurred out in its preview image for what I can only assume are Australian legal reasons. We’ve got special horny bath bombs that dissolve to reveal a sex toy at their center, like a prize hidden in an erotic Cracker Jack box. And, of course, we’ve got Clitter.
Each of these items seems to portend a whale of a yeast infection, but a quick round of Monistat is a small price to pay for keeping your relationship fresh and sexy. So once I decided that we’d waited long enough post-insertion, I initiated sex (itself one of the most frequently repeated tips for keeping the spark alive). I couldn’t feel whether the suppository had dissolved without checking, and I didn’t want to waste any glitter on an exploratory finger, but I did feel some promising hints of lubricant seepage that told me it was time.
We had sex, it was hot, nobody quoted The Producers. It may sound funny from the girl who’s writing about her intimate suppository experience at length for an audience, but this part is none of your business.
After we finished, I sat upright, feeling like a new woman. “DOES IT LOOK SPARKLY?!” I asked. Very cool, very casual.
He looked between my legs. “Yes, actually!”
I tried to look at myself. Lesson one of Clitter: You will have to trust your partner when they say your pussy is sparkly, as the human spine isn’t designed to bend that way. Although I’ve known a couple guys who were able to suck their own dicks, so maybe they’d have better luck with the intimate self-exam that would be needed here.
I then examined my boyfriend’s dick, which bore a lightweight sparkly residue plus a little nub of suppository casing. Lesson two of Clitter: No matter how badly you want to fuck your boyfriend, and in so doing take your brand new glittery snizz for a test-drive, you need to wait longer than 15 minutes after insertion for best results. My suppository hadn’t dissolved all the way. Who knows how much additional sparkle I could have enjoyed if I’d only been patient?
I spent a truly dismaying amount of time jamming my fingers up myself in an effort to get a photo of the glitter, but it’s subtle, and only shows up well in person. Three hours later, though, long after washing my hands multiple times, I still have sparkles on my fingers. Who knows how long I’ll be leaking sparkles down below? Or should I say “down under,” in honor of the Australian entrepreneur who made this story possible?
Clitter’s most successful application is as a lubricant, though — it really is one of the finer water-based lubes I’ve used. I don’t typically use lube for vaginal sex, but it felt viscous enough to be plausible for anal, too. And it doesn’t even have that faintly medical smell that’s always my least favorite part of using lube. If it didn’t contain that telltale glitter, you could totally insert a Clitter suppository for some surreptitious pre-sex lubrication without your partner ever knowing you’d used it. It’s that subtle and true to life.
I may develop a yeast infection in a day or two, at which point I’ll be forced to revise my take. For the time being, though, my boyfriend and I are willing to give Clitter two thumbs up like the horny Siskel and Ebert that we are.
What goes in, must come out. The day after our Clitter experiment, the results began coming out, all right:
That deep purple glittery residue has been oozing out of me all morning. I would love to use a less horrid word than “ooze,” but I am committed to the truth, and oozing is the truth. This stuff is inside me in what seems to be an impossibly great volume, because after all, this was just one suppository — so how am I now leaking tablespoon after tablespoon of fairy oil every time I laugh, sneeze or piss?
Well, that’s a Clitter mystery for another day.