Hot Potato Sex!

One potato, two potato, three potato (gettin' excited?), four; five potato, six potato (yes!), seven potato, more. I love potatoes in all their forms: salt and vinegar chips; garlic mashed; baked with melted butter; fresh herb-dusted baby potatoes; Cajun-spiced curly fries; well-done hash browns with peppers. Since carbohydrate addicts are one of her latest kicks, Oprah might characterize my constant craving as biological rather than simply obsessive. Just a few weeks ago, she was raving on her show about how she adores potatoes. Why not? There's a lot to love.

I met a woman who's got me and Oprah beat—I mean, she really digs potatoes. For Pommela de Terre, potatoes are her passion—for about seven years, she has been carving them into dildos for masturbation. When I first visited her Web site, , I must say I was impressed. I've seen a lot of turn-ons and bizarre sexual practices, boys and girls, and this one is wholly unique.

When the petite, curvaceous dental hygienist turned stripper walked into the lobby bar of Manhattan's midtown Hilton last week, everyone's head turned. Maybe it was the cream-colored sweater that barely covered her breasts, the dark movie star glasses, and the black Cleopatra wig. Little did the onlookers (who, incidentally, were there for a Society of Cosmetic Chemists convention) know that she was gonna take me to her room and show me why the apple of the earth is the apple of her eye.

In her quest for the perfect dildo material, Pommela has tried everything: sculpted phalluses of clay and Play-Doh; carrots, cucumbers ("They break"), bananas, candles; store-bought dildos ("They don't feel real and sometimes they chafe"); even Coke bottles ("I like old-fashioned glass ones over plastic"). For her, potatoes are the penultimate: natural, easy to carve, firm yet pliable, and they conduct heat and vibration. She claims their texture and shape are the closest you can come to a real cock, and she has never had a potato break: "Never, and I know how to push it."

On a tray in her hotel room sat three potatoes, an ordinary steak knife, a spray bottle of olive oil, a plastic lemon full of lemon juice, and a bottle of lube. She laid a towel down on the bed, brought the tray over, and went to work. She selected two potatoes, one six inches long and three-and-one-half inches around, the other five inches by three inches. She started peeling with the steak knife, and pretty soon she was whittling dick, see.

As she carved, she squeezed lemon juice on the potatoes ("a natural preservative that prevents the spud from turning brown"). Here's the thing: They were amazingly realistic—circumcised bulbous heads, impeccably detailed frenula, even veins in the shafts, which she scratched in with her manicured nails. And when she carved them, she seemed to be in her own world, potato chunks flying everywhere; peels stuck to her inner thighs and the bottom of her spiked heels. As the starch stiffies took shape, she doused them in olive oil, which helps make them more pliable.

She rubbed her creations on her breasts, sucked them, glided them along her clit. When she was satisfied with her sculptures, she invited me to put one in her pussy. I obliged with the larger spud and slid it inside her. She wriggled around, then turned over so she was on her hands and knees. She rubbed more olive oil onto the smaller potato and worked it into her ass. She had one carbo cock in her pussy, one in her ass, and she was in potato heaven. "It's like they come to life inside me," she moaned, and sure enough both were warm and more flexible once they'd been in her for a while.

Usually when she's giving a private show (the majority of her clients are men, some couples), she's talking sexy to her watchers or they are talking to her. I wondered if my direct questions, like, "Does the lemon juice sting your pussy?" were distracting. But I did want some answers about the health and safety of hot potato sex. Because, if I know my readers, some of you are going to try this at home.

In all the time Pommela has been whacking off with her delicious dildos, she's never gotten an infection. I asked masturbation guru Dr. Betty Dodson for her expert opinion on the matter, and she said, "For some people, the starch in the potato could lead to an overgrowth of yeast. I think the lemon juice may neutralize the sugar in the potato, but everyone's body is different." Pommela also never has lost a potato up her ass, although because her carvings don't have a flared base, as Buttgirl I must warn you that it's a risk you should consider.

Though Pommela doesn't politicize her fetish, making her own masturbation tools seems liberating to me (at least worthy of a grrrl zine); before manufactured dildos, many women (especially dykes) made their own out of household items and vegetables. Pommela may be the mother of potatophilia, but there are others who've plowed the field for her. Pommela de Terre is a revolutionary. She creates the object that fucks her, she hand-makes what she fucks, and she brings to life what gives her pleasure.

Pommela's artistic mission doesn't preclude economic reality: Let's face it, she needs spud money. She's found a way to make her art pay off. She sells memberships to her Web site for $9.95 for two months. She currently has 123 members, and is proud that she just signed up her first female. For $95, less than the cost of a night at a strip club, a man can send Pommela a photo of his dick, from which she will carve a realistic potato representation. Then she'll jerk off with the pet potato cock, send him the cum-soaked spud penis, a photo of her doing herself with it, and her cum-soaked panties. Since the Web site launched in June, she's received eight orders for custom cocks. She also performs private hot-potato sex shows; that'll run you $500, plus travel and hotel expenses.

Pommela gave me the pet potatoes as souvenirs of our meeting, and they sit side by side in a plastic Hilton shower cap in my refriger-ator. (They last for about 11 hours without refrigeration; you can also freeze them.) I take them out and show them to friends when they come to my apartment—everyone is in awe of the detail and realism. I'll never look at a potato the same way again.

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