Tickle my Tush: A fun and informative read, all cheesiness aside

I was very pleasantly surprised and delighted by this book from OhhhCanada. Must admit, I'm a judgey-pants, and when a book comes with a silly title and a cheesy cover photo, my initial worry is that it will be heavy on the puns and lacking in substance. I'm pleased to report that Tickle my Tush is definitely heavy on the jokes, but also heavy on the useful information.

The book takes the reader on a journey from the theoretical (ideology of anal play, safety, hygiene), through various practical stages of tips and techniques, covering external massage, shallow and deep fingerplay, penetration and penetration with toys. While I’d consider my partner and myself to be on the more open-minded/experienced side of things, I was really delighted with information about so-called more “mild” activities, such as new techniques for external massage. I’d be surprised if anyone, no matter how experienced, did not learn a few new tricks from this book! Even those who like it wild have to start mild to prepare the body for what’s to come.

For those who are new to anal play, Tickle my Tush is a fantastically fun companion to starting out. It’s very accessible and non-intimidating, telling you everything you need to know in the same way a close (and very funny) friend would. The illustrations, while cartoonish, manage to be very accurate and also pretty sexy.

I had a few small beefs with this book, but nothing that should stop anyone from checking it out.

1. The section on toy penetration for men mentions only harnesses. Yes, there are a variety of harnesses out there as options, but the book fails to mention the very popular “strapless strap-on” options. Having been the proud owners/users of a feeldoe, for the past five years, as have many of our friends, it seems odd to exclude this option from the book. And what about other prostate-stimulating toys? There are tons out there, vibrating and non-vibrating, in a range of materials.
2. Tickle my Tush states on the cover that it's for “everybody”, yet it becomes rapidly clear that its real focus is on hetero, monogamous couples. Nothing wrong with focusing in on a particular segment of the population, but it would be more helpful for the title to be more accurate.
3. I dislike the made-up and misappropriated words. For example, the author uses “A-spot” to refer to the anus. Is this because she thinks people are too uncomfortable with the word anus? I admit, it's not the hottest word out there, but the thing is, that’s what it’s called, and the term “A-spot” is already taken. To quote Desmond Morris, “The A-Spot, AFE-zone or Anterior Fornix Erogenous Zone, also referred to as the Epicentre, is a patch of sensitive tissue at the inner end of the vaginal tube between the cervix and the bladder”. Why confuse matters? The anus is the anus, the A-spot is something else.
4. I really dislike the term “he-spot”. Yes, prostate is a long word and it can be easier to refer to a “p-spot”, this term is commonly accepted, so why change it to “he-spot”, as this book does? The neologism borders on being patronizing to men, suggesting that they can't handle direct reference to their actual anatomy, but are okay as long as their bits are referred to by some superheroish (“He-man”) name. All the men I like are grown-ups, and would happily discuss prostate stimulation but would never be coddled by a suggestion that someone touch their “he-spot”. It would be akin to calling their penis a “pee-pee”. Yuck.

These things said, as much as I scoffed at terms like “he-spot” as I read the book, the truth is I couldn’t put it down. It’s charming, informative, and practical, while still being fun. I have a hard time imagining someone so prudish that they could not be won over by this book, nor someone so jaded that they see no value in it. Tickle my Tush would be a great gift for anyone in a new relationship who is not sure how their partner feels about anal adventures, and wants to start out with a light, open-minded view.