Why I’m Giving This 12-Dollar Sex Swing a Zero-Star Review

No lumbar support

Hello my Wilding Out peeps!

Today I wanted to take a moment and introduce another humor writer that I find absolutely firkin hilarious.

Her name is

Lindsay Rae Brown

.

I read her on a regular basis because she makes me pee my pantaloons. Today’s piece about her $12 sex swing experience is no exception. I read it and absolutely had to share it with my peeps.

If you think she’s as a hoot as much as I do, check out her Substack, It’s Just Foam. Give her a free subscribe if you like what you see.

Quick Update

My buddy, The Mouthy Renegade Writer and I will be doing another Substack live tonight at 6 pm EST!

This time—it’s all about you guys, we want to read your comments and answer all your questions. We’ve been gabbing amongst ourselves too much, and haven’t yet mastered how to keep talking, while reading the comments and incorporating them into our jibber jabber.

It’s harder than it looks. But we’re working on it.

Anyhoo, I’ll see some of you at 6 pm EST tonight :)

Now—onto Lindsay’s hilarious story about her sex swing shenanigans…

Ok, this isn’t a sex swing, but you get the idea (Image by master1305 on Freepik)

Wrangling a 150-pound body into an ill-designed hanging apparatus is no easy feat.

It takes ingenuity and cunning. It takes all manner of initiative.

A handsome friend of mine, who I greatly enjoy sleeping with, decided to purchase a sex swing for us to try out. Now, I won’t sit here and tell you I am a boring lover. The exact opposite is true. Usually, I’m up for anything!

Well, almost anything.

But I was dubious of this swing contraption right off the bat.

As he pulled it out from under his bed, saying, “Look what I ordered off Temu,” the words hit my earballs all wrong.

Wait. What? You can buy sex swings on Temu now?

“Oh, you can get anything on Temu!” he explained proudly.

The thing looked like a BDSM novice’s nightmare. With numerous thick black straps and heavy-duty silver braces holding it all together, I couldn’t imagine how it would possibly get me going in the downstairs department.

But because I love my guy dearly, I told him we should give it a shot.

He seemed to have the same concerns as he looked the swing over and suggested we take a test run before giving it a proper christening.

So rather than undressing and getting sexed up, we remained clothed and tried to figure out how to hang the device. Large industrial hooks were meant to clamp to the top of a door. Then, securely closing the door would lock the clamps in place.

This “swing” was less of a swing and more of an uncomfortable hanging chair. There wouldn’t be much mobility with your back securely against the shut door.

Not ideal.

But that was by far the least of our worries as we continued to unravel the mysteries of the stationary sex swing.

Once hanging there, all strappy and intimidating, I quietly wondered, “How the fuck am I going to get into this thing?” The seat was a good three feet off the ground, and I’ve never been good at acrobatics.

Of course, being the lovely gentleman he is, my man tried picking me up to plonk me into place, but I resisted. Maybe it’s because I’m vertically challenged, but I absolutely hate it when people pick me up.

This is a thing for most short people; we don’t like being carried around. We also don’t like our heads being used as armrests for our taller compadres.

It was sweet of him to offer to fling me into our new sexcapades, but I decided that a chair might be better suited for the task.

It was not.

Even with the chair, it was impossible to wrangle my lower half inside the strappy-madingers, mostly because I was unclear about what to put into the stirrups.

Yes. There were stirrups, but they seemingly weren’t put there for anybody’s use because they were only about ten inches long.

In my mind, I envisioned hanging in the swing with my feet in the stirrups, causing my knees to bend upwards and out, resulting in maximal…er, spread.

So that’s the position I attempted to contort my body into.

All I can say is thank the good lord Jesus I was not naked at the time.

I’m fairly positive I’d never want to sleep with myself again after seeing the weird folds and flaps exposed while wearing the ol’ birthday suit and attempting that contortionist spectacle.

At one point, my left leg was stretched high to the ceiling, while my right was inexplicably wedged into the corner of the door and wall.

My blessedly covered butthole would have been staring my partner dead in the face as he tried to hoist me upwards had we not had the foresight to give this thing a dry run.

Eventually, after a lot of struggle and some gentle but forceful rearranging of my legs, we succeeded in getting me into the swing!

For about ten seconds and then I broke it.

Do you actually know how much emotional and mental damage snapping a sex swing in half does to a person?

A lot, you guys. A fucking lot.

“I don’t know what happened,” he said. “It was supposed to be good up to 300 pounds.”

“Well, I guess Temu lied, didn’t they?” I wailed as I lay half upside down, stuck flat to the wall due to the right-side stirrup snapping and throwing off my center of balance.

Getting out of the swing wasn’t nearly as difficult because I basically slithered my sorry self out of the confining fasteners and straps and onto the ground.

Again, thank God I was fully clothed because I can guarantee that was not hot.

After some deep research, it turns out the leg stirrups were meant to hang the knees in, not the feet. This makes sense because I don’t think most people’s legs work that way.

I also learned that the sex swing itself cost a whopping $12, which made me feel better about immediately busting it.

That swing deserved to die.

All in all, I’d have to give the $12 sex swing from Temu a zero-star review.

Aside from the poor design and mental distress attempting to operate it, there was absolutely no lumbar support whatsoever.

My back is killing me.

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