We’re Not Blowjob Machines, Bro

This is my “just had an unsatisfactory hookup” face

Let’s do some sex math, shall we?

  • Number of male sexual partners I’ve given oral sex to: 23
  • Number of male sexual partners I’ve given an orgasm via oral sex: 12
  • Number of male sexual partners who’ve given oral sex to me: 17
  • Number of male sexual partners who’ve given me an orgasm via oral sex: 4
  • Percentage of men I’ve gotten off orally: 52.2%
  • Percentage of men who’ve gotten me off orally: 23.5%

In talking to my female friends who have a fair amount of sex with men – especially casual hookups – this seems to be a pretty common trend: fewer dudes try to go down on us, while implicitly or explicitly expecting us to go down on them, and even fewer dudes actually put in the time and effort necessary to bring us pleasure and orgasm.

I recently did a highly unscientific Twitter poll, because I wanted to learn more about this, and it found that 42% of folks with vulvas receive oral sex 0 or 1 time for every 4 times they have sex (versus 36% of folks with penises). This definitely isn’t a perfect poll because it doesn’t take sexual orientation into account, and because some respondents said they don’t receive oral more often because they don’t want to receive oral more often, but the fact remains: no one is a blowjob machine; we all have needs too.

These behaviors, I believe, come from a tangled ball of sexist (not to mention cissexist and heterocentric) myths our culture pushes on us, including:

  • Cunnilingus is more intimate than a blowjob
  • Vulvas are more difficult to please than penises
  • Women’s desire for sex isn’t as intense or as frequent as men’s
  • Orgasms are more important/central to men than they are to women
  • You don’t have to treat someone with respect if you’re just fucking them casually

I would like to make clear that I’m not arguing everyone wants or should want to receive oral sex, or that orgasms are the be-all and end-all of sexual satisfaction. But oral sex and orgasms are two metrics of many for measuring sexual equality in society. A 2013 study of 600 college students found that women are half as likely to orgasm in a casual hookup as they are in relationship sex. These numbers – as well as the studies supporting the existence of the orgasm gap – suggest that for as far as feminism has come, sexual satiety stats in male-female encounters still skew heavily in favor of men, especially in the realm of hooking up.

This problem got so bad for me toward the end of my sluttiest phase that now I don’t even have the energy for casual sex anymore (at least not with men!). I know it’s overwhelmingly unlikely to leave me satisfied, so even when I’m intensely craving sex, I don’t bother seeking it out on dating apps; it’s good sex I’m craving, and that’s not hookup sex for me. Do all those sexually bumbling dudes know that they’re actually hurting their chances of getting laid by putting zero effort into pleasing their partners?

There isn’t an easy way to rectify this problem, as the best way would involve widespread change in the way our culture talks and thinks about sex and gender. But here are some rules I’d like to set for myself if I ever dive back into fucking casually:

  1. Don’t have sex with people who don’t make you laugh. Seems unrelated, maybe, but if I find someone funny, I’m likelier to find them attractive (which means I’ll be more aroused and more likely to have a good time), and if they’re putting effort into cracking me up, they’ll probably also put effort into dicking me down well.
  2. Ask for more “foreplay” if needed. I don’t like the term “foreplay” because it implies that anything before PIV sex is less valuable/important, and also that PIV (or some equivalent penetrative form of sex) is the centerpiece of the session, neither of which are fair assumptions. That said, I often need more time to be spent on the acts we traditionally think of as foreplay, and I shouldn’t feel shy about asking for it.
  3. Be honest about your needs and wants. I’ve too often been asked “Did you come?” by hookups and responded, “No, but it’s okay,” when I actually wasn’t okay with it. I need to get more comfortable expecting better from my partners.
  4. Be proactive about your own arousal. True, this isn’t completely within my control, but there are some factors in my arousal that I can control, like my stress level before and during a date, my alcohol consumption on the date, the recency of my last orgasm, and whether I bring a vibrator. I can also fantasize during sex and/or do relaxation exercises to help myself get and stay aroused.
  5. If someone’s selfish in bed, don’t fuck them again. Pretty simple.

I think following these 5 rules could improve my future hookups drastically… It’s just a question of whether I’m brave enough to actually follow them, and that remains to be seen.

 

This post was sponsored. As always, all writing and opinions are my own.

My Top 10 Favorite Songs About Marriage

The closest thing I have to a photo of me in a wedding dress.

I’m a romantic sap and I don’t care who knows it. I cry at Hallmark cards, I sob whenever I watch the episode of The Office where Jim and Pam get married, and I certainly weep profusely at real-life weddings. What can I say?

I once briefly dated someone who edited wedding videos for a living, and he frequently lamented how boring certain songs get after a while. (You would not believe how many millennials want Bright Eyes’ “First Day of My Life” to feature prominently in their nuptials. Or maybe you would.) That said, wedding-related songs still get me all choked up pretty much whenever I listen to them, whether they’re about beautiful brides for marriage, or offbeat vows, or an oddly-romantic desire not to get married. Here are 10 of my faves…

The Magnetic Fields – It’s Only Time

Why would I stop loving you a hundred years from now?/ It’s only time/ What could stop this beating heart once it’s made a vow?/ It’s only time

This is my #1, play-this-at-my-wedding, first-dance-contender, most romantic song ever. I once sang it and played it on the ukulele in Malta while my cousin walked down the aisle; she hadn’t heard the song before I presented it as an option, but she quickly fell in love with it, as did basically the entire wedding party. Stephin Merritt is a brilliant songwriter, blessed with the ability to write lyrics that are quirky and quixotic sometimes, and utterly classic and simple at other times. This song is of the latter type – it feels, somehow, like it has always existed, since the birth of love.

Rosie Thomas – Wedding Day

I’m gonna stop at every bar/ And flirt with the cowboys in front of their girlfriends/ It’s gonna be so great/ It’s gonna be just like my wedding day

This isn’t actually about a wedding – it’s kind of about a rejection of romance and an embracing of self-love instead, with Rosie sweetly breathing lines like “I’ve had enough of love; it feels good to give up, so good to be good to myself.” But your relationship with yourself is so deeply rooted, so permanent and important, that it may as well be a marriage, am I right?

Tegan and Sara – BWU

All the girls I loved before/ Told me they signed up for more/ Save your first and last chance for me/ ‘Cause I don’t want a white wedding

I have a long-standing theory that Tegan Quin is anxiously attached (to use the parlance of the psychological concept known as attachment theory) while her sister, Sara, is avoidantly attached. You can see the difference easily if you know which T&S songs are written and sung by each sister: Tegan’s songs tend to be desperate “I want you to love me/Why don’t you love me?!” bops, while some of Sara’s greatest hits include lines like “I’m not unfaithful but I’ll stray,” “I swear I tried to leave you at least a hundred times a day,” and – yes – “I don’t want a white wedding.” I admire her level of self-knowledge; I just suuuper don’t want to date someone who approaches relationships the way she does (or the way she seems to in her songs)!

Alvvays – Archie, Marry Me

You’ve expressed explicitly/ Your contempt for matrimony/ You’ve student loans to pay/ And will not risk the alimony

This is a song about a girl trying to convince a boy to marry her. Even though she sounds feminine and sweet, there is something remarkably brash about it. “Hey, hey,” she sings in the chorus, “marry me, Archie.” I admire that level of straightforwardness, and of clarity of desire!

Punch Brothers – Don’t Get Married Without Me

Let’s not fool ourselves/ Taking a break is dragging out a break-up too long/ Help yourself to whatever you like with whomever you like/ But don’t get married without me

The feeling expressed in this song is one I’m sure a lot of us have felt, even if we’re not proud of it: the sense that, even when you’ve broken up with someone, you still have (or want to have) some sense of ownership over them. It’s a shitty monogamy-culture knee-jerk reaction, but what can ya do. I like that this song has a sense of humor about itself; clearly Chris Thile knows how ridiculous it would be to put conditions on the romantic life of someone you’re dumping, but it’s an impulse that comes up nonetheless.

Death Cab For Cutie – Cath…

You said your vows/ And you closed the door/ On so many men/ Who would have loved you more

Ben Gibbard, for some reason, is really good at writing songs about women with romantic regrets. (See also: “Lady Adelaide,” the solo-project track of his that makes me weep for a fictional character.) I find this song relatable even though I’ve never been married; being romantically entangled with “a well-intentioned man” while your “heart is dying fast” is a tough spot to be in, and yet I think a lot of us have experienced some version of that. You want to get out, but you’re worried about what’ll happen if you do.

The Japanese House – Worms

Sharing your house/ Sharing your life/ Sharing your home/ There’s so much pressure not to be alone

I feel this song in the marrow of my bones. It feels like a post-breakup anxiety spiral: “She’s my lullaby and I can’t sleep right,” Amber Bain warbles mournfully, before deep-diving into feelings of large-scale rejection and loneliness. She’s right that our culture is overinvested in pairing people up, and in making single people feel like shit.

Company – Getting Married Today

Listen, everybody/ Look, I don’t know what you’re waiting for/ A wedding? What’s a wedding?/ It’s a prehistoric ritual/ Where everybody promises fidelity forever/ Which is maybe the most horrifying word I’ve ever heard

Just about everything Stephen Sondheim writes is gold, but this is a fave of mine. It’s a nervous breakdown in song form: Amy, a neurotic bride-to-be, has a panic attack the morning of her wedding and enumerates all the reasons she can’t possibly go through with it. I like to think that if I ever get married, I’ll listen to this on the day of, just to bring those last-minute jitters to the surface and exorcize them so I can proceed.

West Side Story – One Hand, One Heart

Make of our hands one hand/ Make of our hearts one heart/ Make of our vows one last vow/ Only death will part us now

On the opposite end of the spectrum, here is a musical theatre song about a wedding gone right. Tony and Maria – based on Romeo and Juliet – sing this beautiful love duet to bind them together. It’s so over-the-top that I think it would actually be too cheesy to be a first-dance song… and yet, I love it.

John Mayer – Home Life

I can tell you this much/ I will marry just once/ And if it doesn’t work out/ Give her half of my stuff/ It’s fine with me/ We said eternity

The J-man has a bit of a reputation as a player, so it’s rare for him to grapple with questions of domesticity and long-term love in his songs, but he does in this one. Mayer has never gotten married as of yet, but has been romantically tied to the likes of Jennifer Love Hewitt, Jennifer Aniston, and Katy Perry. Guess he didn’t click with any of them enough to have “said eternity” with ’em.

What are your favorite songs about weddings/marriage?

 

This post was sponsored. As always, all writing and opinions are my own.

Winsome in White: Wedding Dress Fetish

A strapless white Betsey Johnson dress that makes me shriek

When I attended a cakesitting party, I theorized that perhaps the spark of lust some people feel from destroying a cake materializes because we put so much time and effort and emotional energy into cakes. Not just the making of them, but also the planning for them, presenting them, eating them. They’re the centerpiece of a traditional birthday party, and to destroy something so precious and so highly celebrated is an almost unfathomable taboo. It’s why, you’ll note, many big showy “Oh no!!” moments in movies culminate in a cake being tragically (and comically) destroyed.

Around the same time, I started wondering whether this taboo of destroying highly celebrated objects could extend to other types of celebrations. So, naturally, I typed “wedding dress fetish” into Google, thinking: what could be a more celebrated object than that?

Currently, that phrase brings up 41 results. In those results, you’ve got your brides merely expressing extreme enthusiasm about their dresses, sure, but you’ve also got an Experience Project page of men professing their lust for wedding dresses, porn clips of women giving blowjobs in floofy white frocks, and a review of a mystery novel about a serial killer who dresses all his victims in wedding gowns. It’s often said that humans can and will fetishize anything and everything you can think of, and this is no exception. One fetishist writes that a wedding dress is “the ultimate in femininity and the most ultimate dress anyone can own.” I can’t argue with that, except to add that the femininity being referred to here is, of course, a capitalist and conventional form of that gender expression, tied up in many different axes of historical oppression.

More broadly, some people have a “bride fetish” or a “bridal fetish,” which might focus on the dress but also might focus on the other trappings of a woman being wed: the white lingerie under the dress, the flawless makeup, the veil, the unattainability, the supposed virginity, or any number of other things. I’m most interested in the dress as a fetish object, though, especially after having read Laurie Essig’s book Love, Inc. where she dissects the vast psychological baggage we’ve placed on the wedding dress as a symbol. It’s right up there with crosses and the human heart in terms of the importance we heap onto it.

I spent some time in a bridal shop a couple years ago when I joined my friend’s wedding party. While I was trying on bridesmaid dresses – which are pretty much designed to make the wearer look unremarkable and plain, but in a pretty way – my friend kept swanning in and out of the dressing room in one gorgeous gown after another, commanding the room. I teared up almost every time she emerged in a new dress, because the effect of seeing someone you love – or even someone you hardly know! – in a dress that culturally weighted is powerful.

I didn’t experience that feeling as sexual, but I can easily see how someone could. Swathing yourself or a loved one in white tulle and satin could be a way of accessing what’s supposed to be the best day of your life, a day when you look and feel gorgeous, a day that we all winkingly acknowledge will probably end in romantic sex. It’s a day when everyone stares at you, when you’re the center of attention but no one gets mad at you for it, when you make promises that are supposed to be binding. There’s a lot in there that overlaps psychologically with concepts like exhibitionism and voyeurism, dominance and submission, and (especially when you factor in the corsets and high heels) sadism and masochism. It’s no wonder some people fixate on weddings and their trappings in a distinctly sexual way.

Apparently sometimes bridesmaids try on wedding gowns when the bride-to-be does, because “When in Rome” and all that – but I didn’t, when I was in that bridal boutique with my pal. It would’ve felt inappropriate to steal her thunder, but also there was something powerfully sacred about these dresses in my mind. I didn’t want to try one on until I had “earned” the right by getting engaged and actually being a bride-to-be, rather than just playacting as one. I knew seeing myself in a white gown would unleash a torrent of feelings I wasn’t ready to feel. So I zipped myself into my meek blue cocktail dress and tucked that desire away for another day.

I hope someday I have sex in a wedding gown, whether or not I actually got married that day, because I imagine there’s just nothing else quite like it. What else could be as decadent – besides sitting on a beautiful chocolate cake?

 

This post was sponsored. As always, all writing and opinions are my own.

20 Local Crushes Who Make Me Blush


1. The charmingly bedraggled server at the vegan café. He forever looks like he just rolled out of bed, hung over, the morning after modeling in a Calvin Klein underwear shoot, threw some rumpled clothes on and walked to work. Once I saw him greet a customer, “Hello! Happy Monday!” and it was Wednesday. Maybe he was thrown off because she was cute. Maybe he’s just like that.

2. The hot soft-butch waitress at the diner, who’s clearly just doing this to support her true passion of stand-up comedy or improv or TV acting, because she’s loud and hilarious and talks with her hands. She dresses like a female character from The Sandlot if that movie had any girls, and she always gets my breakfast order perfect. One time I overheard her telling a coworker about the shitty misogynist jokes in an improv show I’d also seen the night before, and my heart swelled for this woke little ragamuffin.

3. The guy who does the lights and sound for my favorite Friday-night improv show. He’s the main reason I keep coming back, week after week, year after year. His cues are usually funnier than the entire rest of the show put together. He punctuates scenes with absurd music stings and unexpected-yet-perfect sound effects that dial up the funny without ever stepping on anyone’s toes. I blush every time he takes my ticket at the door, because brilliantly funny people are my kryptonite. I don’t use the word “genius” lightly, but…

4. The intense blonde hostess/server at the high-end steakhouse who held my gaze with her cool blue eyes while explaining the entire complicated menu from memory. How the fuck is she that pretty. How the fuck is she that smart. How the fuck can I get her to step on my face.

5. The beefy, bespectacled nerd at the Greek pastry place who always brings me my spanakopita right-side-up in its little to-go bag and always, always says “Thank you” when I put coins in the tip jar.

6. The unbelievably tall improvisor I occasionally see in longform shows, but don’t specifically seek out much anymore because one time he made me laugh so hard that I accidentally spit beer into the hair of the lady sitting in front of me and now I am ashamed forever. Also because one time an improvisor friend of mine introduced us at a party and I, at a total loss for words, said, “You’re super funny!” He knows he is. He said, “Thanks!” At least he was polite.

7. The multi-instrumentalist who used to accompany my favorite quirky singer-songwriter in tiny, intimate shows at the queer piano bar. The sight of his tongue darting out to wet his clarinet reed was of particular interest to me. Once I saw him leaving a school playground with his small son in tow, and my heart melted into a sticky puddle.

8. The “senior executive barback” at the fancy cocktail bar with the “verbal menu.” He will take your order, no matter how vague or nonsensical, and spin it into something not only drinkable but downright divine. Once he complimented my arm tattoo and I was so disoriented I nearly fell off my barstool. He’s the only person I’ve ever seen look devastatingly handsome in a pineapple-print button-down. But of course, competence can do that to a person.

9. The musical theatre actor with the impossibly luminous face. His headshot in the playbill never quite captures it. Once he smiled and waved at me and my mom from across a busy street because he recognized us from the front row of the Sondheim musical we’d just seen him in (ugh, help). I would see him in anything, as evidenced by the time I considered taking a 4-hour bus ride each way to see him play the lead in a small-town staged reading of Angels in America. I eventually decided against it because my boyfriend was going to be in town, but… I almost wanted to drag him along.

10. The spiky-haired, big-grinned boy who’s always around to help me find the lube or condoms I need at the giant gayborhood sex shop. He still makes me giggle like an absolute weirdo, even though we’ve been fucking on-and-off for nearly two years.

11. The absurdly competent, pretty, blonde bartender at the cozy cocktail bar. She knows how to make my favorite drink even though it’s not on the menu and everyone else who works there seems mystified by it. The way she handles a cocktail shaker is a source of particular fascination.

12. The tiny brunette server at the Greek diner, who brings me my $6 breakfast with speed and precision, all the while seeming so cold and unaffected that I might as well be a piece of gum stuck to her shoe. Fuck me up, queen. And bring me some orange juice, too, if you could. If you think I’ve earned it.

13. The very tall, very aloof comedian who sometimes tends bar at the improv theatre. It’s not a fancy bar – once, we ordered bourbon on the rocks, and he looked alarmed and said, “Pardon me?!” – but it’s cozy and crowded and sometimes he even smiles.

14. The theatre actor I’ve seen in parts as diverse as George Bailey, Louis Ironson, and Ebenezer Scrooge. His diction is impeccable. He’s a flamboyant, articulate dream. I saw a play once where he paraded up and down the boards performing a half-hour-long monologue in the middle of act one, and I wanted to stand up and scream at the rest of the audience, “Do you even realize how amazing this is?!”

15. The soft-spoken sushi server who brings me tofu and edamame before my meal. I have ordered the same exact lunch from him dozens of times and he still pretends (?) he doesn’t know what I’m going to ask for. Reserved shyness exudes from his very pores.

16. The no-nonsense bartender at the queer bookstore, who pours me my double whiskey and then hands it to me while entangling her deep brown eyes with mine. One time I saw her on the subway and her biceps were bulging out of her tank top. I wondered if handling big bottles of booze all day makes you strong.

17. The chatty LCBO clerk who reminds me of Fred Armisen, only older and, you know, probably not an abuser. He always seems to love his job, and when I pop in to buy whiskey or wine, he makes a big show of checking my ID because of how young I supposedly look, in a way that seems just the slightest bit flirty.

18. In its entirety, the longform improv troupe that always makes me remember why longform improv is my favorite. The stories they weave are as complex and absurd as their brains, individually and collectively. Once, I matched with one of them on a dating site, and he promptly unmatched me when I gushed that I was a fan. I only slightly regret this.

19. The beautiful brunette barista who always calls me “sweetie” and upgrades my drink size for no reason. We barely know each other, but somehow her conviction that I always need more caffeine feels like a deep, searching knowledge of my soul.

20. The androgynous server at the Mexican restaurant, punctuating her uniform with a backwards baseball cap. She brought me and my boyfriend perfect margaritas, sat almost uncomfortably close to me on the arm of my chair, chatted with us about our plans for the rest of the night, and then asked, inexplicably, “Are you guys chefs?” After she left, we looked at each other in bewilderment for a beat, before my boyfriend asked: “Did she smell good?”

Who are your local crushes?

 

This post was sponsored. As always, all writing and opinions are my own.

Review: Le Stelle Perks EX-C

I’m always on board with new luxury sex toy companies popping up to fill the shoes of Lelo and Jimmyjane, now that those brands have well and truly jumped the shark. So I was excited when Le Stelle reached out to offer me a vibrator to try.

I chose the Perks Series Ex-C – and no, I’m not sure why it’s called that. It’s a rechargeable vibrator in a lovely shade of cornflower blue, and it comes with two interchangeable attachments: one for external/clitoral use, and one for dual stimulation (G-spot + clit at the same time).

Switching the attachments out is easy – you twist one counterclockwise to remove it, and twist the new one clockwise to lock it in place. They’re both made of smooth, matte silicone that feels luxurious to the touch. The attachments feel fancier than the plastic vibrating base, which is lightweight and doesn’t feel as substantial, but they look pretty together.

The clitoral attachment, I will admit, did next-to-nothing for me. The vibrations are buzzier than my clit prefers, making my genitals start to get numb and my hand start to get itchy within a minute or so. They also start too high for me – I like a lot of gradation in my vibrator speeds – and there are only 3 steady speeds before you start cycling through the 7 patterns. Scrolling through modes with only one button is annoying as hell, but Le Stelle is hardly the first company to use this system – my beloved We-Vibe does it too – so I can hardly fault them for that. The clit attachment is also bendy/squishy/flexible, so if you like any pressure whatsoever on your clit, you’ll have a hard time using this. And as icing on the cake, the vibrations this toy produces are loud – think mini-buzzsaw – even though its marketing copy says it’s “discreet and quiet.” Nope.

With all that in mind, I was ready to write this vibe off, but then I tried the dual-stimulation attachment. It’s got a big swollen G-spot head, a slim tapered shaft, and a little ridged nub that’s supposed to sit on your clit. I found, to my surprise, that this attachment works really well for my body: it lines up just right with both my G-spot and clit at the same time, which is a feat in itself, and it strikes a good balance between firmness and squishiness and between broadness and slimness for my particular G-spot. The buzzy vibrations feel less annoying when they’re inside; my G-spot evidently likes buzziness more than my clit does, because I was actually able to squirt with this toy by thrusting it while the vibrations were on. Neat!

The clitoral nubbin stays in place pretty well when I leave the vibe still, but, as I mentioned, these vibrations aren’t my clit’s favorite. It tends to go numb after a little while, and I can’t imagine getting off with this vibe alone. Luckily, though, the attachment is flexible enough that I can bend it backwards a little, to keep the internal portion in contact with my G-spot while freeing up some space in front of my clit for my hand or another vibe. Using the Perks Ex-C this way, orgasm is possible – and often quite intense, with all that G-spot pressure and vibration going on.

While this attachment looks like it might be anal-safe, I wouldn’t recommend using it that way – I’d be too scared the attachment would pop off and get lost inside you. A reader on Instagram also reported to me that they owned the anal-friendly version of this toy and it broke while they were switching the attachment, exposing the wires underneath. If that’s anything to go on (which it might not be – I haven’t confirmed this case and I don’t know if it’s a one-off or not), these vibes might not be the most durable, and they’re only splash-proof, not waterproof, so I wouldn’t trust these for particularly strenuous or wet sessions.

That said, for $69.90 (nice), I think the Le Stelle Perks Ex-C is a pretty decent G-spot vibrator, if nothing else. I have a hard time finding toys that don’t make my G-spot want to curl up and die, and this pleased it better than anything new I’ve tried in quite a while. Plus it’s pretty, and I’m a sucker for a good blue.

 

Thanks so much to Le Stelle for providing this toy for me to review! This post was sponsored, and as always, all writing and opinions are my own.