12 Days of Girly Juice 2016: 3 Fave Encounters

Today’s “12 Days of Girly Juice” instalment sums up my three favorite bang sessions of the year, and I have an embarrassing secret to confess: unlike last year’s diverse trio of fucktimes, all three of these encounters were with the same person.

It’s embarrassing because it implies that he’s the only good partner I’ve had all year, out of the 12 partners I had in 2016, and that none of the others were worth remembering or writing about. That’s not true at all; I had so much good sex this year and all of it was worthy of celebration!

But there are emotional factors at play which affect how I think about all those encounters. Many of those people have peaced out of my life, after messy break-ups, painful rejections, and/or shocking betrayals – and that drama retroactively mars the memory of the sex I had with those folks. What was amazing sex at the time just feels sad in retrospect.

The following three stories are about a fuckbuddy I’m still friendly with, one who doesn’t make me feel sad, resentful, angry, or betrayed. As such, my memories of sex with him have been left untouched by chaotic emotions, so I’m free to recall these memories in their full splendor. They seem every bit as hot, fun, exciting and transformative now as they did then.

26831978656_c32fc1af87_o
I snapped this selfie for Bex before embarking on my BJ date. “Do I look pretty?!”

Impromptu blowjob date

On the evening of February 11th, I sat in a lukewarm bath, realizing my sex life was about to change.

A few days earlier, I’d blown a fuckpal whose dick just jived with my mouth. Craving blowjobs was a completely new thing to me, so it’d taken a few days to sink in: not only did I enjoy blowing him, not only did I want to do it again, but I couldn’t stop thinking about doing it again. This was, for me, unprecedented.

In a sudden fit of impulsive bravery, I leapt out of the bath, grabbed my phone, and tapped out this DM to the aforementioned good-dick’ed dude:

Apologies if this comes across as crass or un-“chill,” but I have been thinking a lot about going down on you and would 100% be down to do that again sometime soon. Just lemme know. Sincerely, girl who is totally not this much of a BJ perv with most people but just had to speak what’s on her mind(/vag).

His reply was, shall we say, enthusiastic. We hammered out details, I threw on some clothes, and then I ventured out into the icy Toronto evening, en route to dat dick.

I gave him two blowjobs that night: one when I arrived, amid giggles, blushing, and R&B slowjams – and one later, after we’d gone out for drinks and dinner, when he muttered darkly into a kiss, “I’m thinking about your mouth…”

Sexual tastes take time to shift; it’s rare for a kink to spring up, fully formed, overnight. So maybe my descent into the Blowjob Fandom was more gradual than I realized. But for me, this is the night I’ll always remember as The Beginning of My Blowjob Obsession. Some dicks are so good, they make history in your life. Some dicks are so good, they rewire your brain. Some dicks are so good, they conjure desire where before there was only distaste.

Some of the toys I brought with me to our hotel-buttsex date (and a bottle of gin).
Some of the toys I brought with me to our hotel-buttsex date (and a bottle of gin).

Anal sex in a sketchy hotel

When we went out for dinner and drinks between Blowjob One and Blowjob Two (which sounds like a duo of Dr. Seuss characters I’d dearly love to meet), we discussed the possibility of him being the first person to fuck me in the ass.

It hadn’t occurred to me before that night in that Distillery District pub, but this particular fuckbuddy was really the perfect person to usher me into the world of anal sex. I liked and trusted him, we had good sexual rapport, and he had experience with butt stuff from both sides of the dick. He outranked me in the realm of Butt Wisdom, and I trusted him to guide me through the experience.

We booked a cheap hotel for the following Monday night and met up there, both nervous as hell and self-medicating with weed (him) and gin (me). We set the scene by cuddling, talking, and joking around. And when we were ready, we started into a sex sesh that lasted about four hours in total. Four languid hours of messing around, laughing, and trying things out. My butt got fucked at some point during the proceedings, but it didn’t feel like the Main Event; everything else was so much fun that the actual butt stuff felt very low-pressure and almost like an afterthought.

This night confirmed what I already knew: that goofy, relaxed sex is my favorite kind, that a shared sense of humor and rapport is vitally important to my sexual enjoyment with a partner, and that – yes! – I like getting fucked in the ass.

I don’t know that it’s always useful to agonize over who should be “your first” when it comes to a particular sexual act. I’m endlessly picky about who I want to fist me first, for example, whereas the first person I ever had sex with was just a friend, for whom I didn’t have sexual feelings. I think the importance of the person really depends on the specific act – and because anal sex is highly intimate, emotionally risky, and physically tricky, I’m super glad I held out for someone I deeply trusted and adored. The experience could not have been any better, truly. I think back on it with immense fondness and gratitude, and I hope my butt gets fucked more in 2017!

28042689031_dbf0210c7d_oBAMF threesome

One night in April, my then-boyfriend was over an hour late to meet me. I complained to Bex, who said, “You know who’d never be late to meet you?” and then they said the name of my fuckbuddy, who, at that time, I hadn’t seen in quite a while and missed a lot.

Bex was joking about my FWB being better for me and nicer to me than my boyfriend, but they were also right. That boyf was disrespectful, unfeminist, and made me feel terrible about being a sexual person. He always wanted me to “warn him” in advance if I wanted sex, acted like it was a favor he’d begrudgingly do for me, and talked about my body less like a hot piece of ass and more like a mildly distasteful science experiment. Though I didn’t want to admit it, I missed having sex with people whose approach to sex was spontaneous, enthusiastic, and joyful. Like that far-away fuckbuddy.

After tweeting about Bex’s remarks, I went to bed, because I had work early the next morning. By the time I woke up, Bex had a) had a conversation with said fuckbuddy about my tweet, b) explained that my boyfriend was basically the worst, and c) established that me, Bex, and the FWB should totally have a threesome. Bex makes dreams come true. They hadn’t gotten the go-ahead from me to set this up, but they didn’t need to: months earlier, on a streetcar, I’d randomly turned to them and said, “Hey, hypothetically, would you ever want to have a threesome with [my FWB]?” to which Bex immediately said, “Yeah!” So there was a precedent. And now that plan had been set in motion.

Over the next six weeks, we planned, brainstormed, sexted, and negotiated. I booked a bus ticket to New York and wrote a decidedly sex-centric packing list. We titled this landmark event “the BAMF threesome” – “Bean (Agender)/Male/Female threesome” – or, alternatively, “The Great Threesome of 2016.” I broke up with my boyfriend, in part because I realized I’d never been half as excited about him as I was about this threesome.

We wore matching rainbow socks, 'cause we knew the dude liked 'em.
We wore matching rainbow socks, ’cause we knew the dude liked ’em.

I took a 10-hour overnight bus from Toronto to New York, and then trekked from the bus station to Bex’s Queens apartment with my little suitcase and backpack full of sex toys. When I arrived, I found that we were wearing the same shirt, which just reiterated the whole “we are gonna sexually team up on a dude tonight” vibe.

The threesome itself was fucking adorable. Dude came over, showered, and the three of us nervously cuddled on a couch for an hour or two, talking and catching up. Then we semi-awkwardly transitioned to kissing, moved to the bed, and took some clothes off. What followed was a blurry mess of blowjobs, fingerbanging, spanking, fucking, biting, dirty-talking, and laughing. It was a magnificent synthesis of two people I love very much and all my favorite aspects of sex. So, basically: the best.

Despite all the threesomes I’ve been involved in, they’re not really my jam – I prefer the unbroken focus and intensity of one-on-one encounters. But sometimes the stars just align, and a magic threesome materializes from the ether like a stroke of genius. This was one of those. More than a sexual encounter, it was a bonding experience, a true test of friendship, some serendipitous playtime. I felt so lucky to know both of those people.

When we were done fucking, we ordered Mexican food, ate it while sitting unselfconsciously naked on Bex’s bedroom floor, and then climbed into bed for a cuddly three-way snooze. I’ve rarely gone to bed so happy, comfortable, and satisfied in my life.

 

What were your favorite sexual encounters of 2016?

Meditation, Mindfulness, & My Slutty Mouth

image

Two major things happened to me in February: I had one of the worst depressive and anxious spells of my life, and I became obsessed with giving blowjobs.

I don’t think it was a coincidence that these things happened at the same time. We’re drawn to what we most need at any given moment: when your body’s deficient in magnesium, for example, you might crave chocolate. And likewise, I see now that when I most needed to clear my mind and focus up, I craved the sexual act that gave me that experience most readily.

This connection didn’t really hit me until the owner of my favorite BJ dick skipped town and I found myself in a fellatio drought for a while. As my anxious and depressive episode worsened, I craved blowjobs the way I’ve craved other life-affirming touchstones: nutritious food, quality friend-time, creative expression, cat cuddles. It ran deeper than my typical carnal hankerings. It felt more like a core psychological need.

When you struggle with anxiety and depression, people constantly offer unsolicited advice. So I’ve heard it all. “Get more sunshine!” “Try yoga!” “Eat more greens!” One suggestion I’ve heard many times is mindfulness. This seems counterintuitive at first blush – if my issue is feeling sad and scared, won’t focusing on those feelings just make me sadder and scared-er? – but I actually find it works the opposite way. Acknowledging my negative self-talk, greeting it like an old friend instead of slamming the door in its face, diffuses some of its power. And then I refocus on my breath and my body instead of my buzzing brain, and those quotidian sensations are calming in their simplicity. It’s not a magic pill, but it’s something.

That’s what blowjobs can be for me: a venue for mindfulness. They force me into my body and don’t allow me to fall back into my anxiety-brain until the deed is done.

When I first started giving BJs at age 19, I didn’t find it hot at all. “My mouth just isn’t an erotic zone for me,” I remember telling a friend. I felt all those mouth sensations very vividly – the weight of a cock on my tongue, the texture of the skin sliding over my lips, the smells and tastes – and they captured my attention so completely that I couldn’t focus on other things, like my own arousal or pleasure. I hadn’t yet developed a concept of sexual enjoyment that didn’t centre on my own genitals, so I interpreted my BJ dalliances as, “My mouth just isn’t eroticized.” Wow, how wrong I was.

That sensory overwhelm is the main reason I enjoy BJs so much now. They are unique among sexual acts for me in this way. When someone’s fucking me, fingering me, or even going down on me, I can tune it out to some extent if I want to. My mind can wander into anxiety-land, and sometimes I need to remind myself, “Oh, right, I’m having sex right now!” I never, ever experience that with a blowjob. I can’t. My mouth is so front-and-center in my perception that I can’t think about much else when I’m slobbin’ on the knob. It’s just me and the dick, and nothing else matters.

Leo Babauta calls this concept “the universe of a single task” (albeit in a rather different context!). He writes that you should “make each task its own universe, its own specialness.” This is an approach I try (and often fail) to bring to my relationships, my creative work, my very existence as a human. But for some reason, when it comes to blowjobs, I succeed. A beej can be my entire world for its whole duration and I don’t feel deprived or distracted. It is my everything.

This is highly affirming at times when I feel like a fuck-up in every other arena. Maybe I’ve missed a work deadline, or I’m fighting with someone I love, or my financial situation is unsteady. It doesn’t matter. Faced with a dick to suck, all that other shit fades away. A blowjob is a task with crystal-clear parameters and expectations, unlike many other challenges we face. I know exactly what I am supposed to do and how to do it, especially if the person I’m blowing is someone whose body and preferences I’m familiar with. I’m not an Olympic-level cocksucker, but I feel fairly confident in my skillz. Giving a good beej makes me feel empowered and successful even when I don’t feel that way about my life as a whole.

Of course, I’m a kinkster, so my brain is forever swimming in kink, and that probably informs the psychologically restorative way I experience BJs. Being a good girl – in this case, by giving good head – is a way for me to feel valuable when I otherwise don’t. My boss, editor, dad, and best friend could all be fuming at me, but if I’m pleasing a dom partner, that’s all I’m thinking about at that moment – and I’ll feel great about it. Maybe that’s fucked up, but there’ve been times when the satisfaction I glean from pleasing a partner was the boost I needed after depression dug me into a hole in every area of life.

Giving head is also an activity that gives you moment-to-moment feedback on how you’re doing. That is precious and rare in this world of anxiety-provoking uncertainty. I can try out a new trick during a BJ and know in under five seconds whether it’s a flop or a worthy addition to my repertoire. Nifty!

This all makes it sound like I approach fellatio as a zen monk would approach his meditation cushion, and that’s not quite right. True, sometimes kneeling at a partner’s feet to take his dick into my mouth feels akin to prostrating myself before a statue of a revered deity. But there is, of course, a sexy element too. Beyond just having a straight-up BJ kink – which I absolutely do – I also think the psychological calm I get from sucking cock takes the pressure off my sexual brakes. The less anxiety and overwhelm I’m feeling, the easier it is for sexual arousal to flow into my body and mind. Abraham-Hicks says your mood is like a cork held underwater, and it rises fast as soon as you let go of it; I find it’s the same with my arousal. The less I cling to my anxiety, the quicker I turn into a hot puddle of arousal in the presence of things that turn me on. Hence, a meditative blowjob – or other anxiety-quashers like marijuana, booze, and sleepiness – makes me hornier by sheer virtue of eliminating my stressors.

Naturally, this process relies on having a partner I trust – someone who I feel safe relaxing around. But I’ve found this penile peace with more casual partners, too. It’s a nice moment for both of us – him luxuriating in pleasure, and me zoning out on his dick. It’s why, for example, my Tinder hookup in Minneapolis asked me mid-beej if I wanted to “do anything else with that cock,” and I looked up at him with confusion in my eyes and said, “…No.” It had been a couple months since I’d had a hard dick in my mouth, and dammit, I needed my fix.

 

Do you find certain sexual acts meditative or calming? Got any stories or suggestions?

Monthly Faves: Good Girls, Pussy Pumps & Sexting Suitors

mosaiceadd658a4d9ad3d295b93bd43d31f17250518e40

Hot damn, it’s summer in Toronto! I can already tell that this is going to be a season of fun, flirting, makeouts on sunny hillsides and impulsive late-night fuck-dates. Let’s make it happen! Here are some of the things that made me happy in the early days of this glorious summer…

Sex toys

• On a Come As You Are mission with Lavender, I spotted a hot pink clit pump and had to have it. I’ve experimented with clit suction in the past, but the only pump I owned was terrible-quality and didn’t work for my body. This new one is Serious Business and actually does what it’s supposed to: increases bloodflow and sensitivity with pleasant (though intense) suction. Next I want a partner to use it on me!

Tantus recently ran a sale on some of their long-discontinued products, so I snapped up a lime-green Sherbet in an impulsive fit of dildo materialism. It’s even better than I expected: the bulbous, ridged head does good G-spot things, and the chartreuse shade makes me smile. Tantus sure does know how to make sex toy geeks convulse with glee.

• Forever enamored with the Magic Wand Rechargeable (though not enamored enough, apparently, to call it by its proper name instead of “the Hitachi”). I use it so often that it stays on my bed at all times for easy access. Vibratex, ya done good.

Fantasy fodder

• I’m sick of crushing on people I’d have to buy a plane ticket to have my way with. There are far too many long-distance flames in my life as is, and it can be sheer torture for the heart and/or genitals. And yet I recently found myself sexting with a fellow who lives across the pond. One of my most intense orgasms this month happened when I used the Double Trouble‘s big end inside me, pretending it was his fist – after (and only after) I’d gotten his permission to come. (Y’all, I really need to stop writing about hot beaux while I’m in public. I am a mess at this café right now.)

• Are you tired of hearing me talk about blowjob porn yet?! I’ve discovered a subreddit dedicated to one of my favorite porn subgenres: scenes featuring deepthroat BJs where the receiver comes deep in the giver’s throat. Admittedly, I’m not into the term Reddit has given this act, “throatpie” – I’d rather think of it as advanced-placement swallowing. (If you’re not sure where to start, it’s hard to go wrong with Heather.)

• I often daydream about my ideal poly situation: two or three consistent partners who love me a whole lot and who each bring out different sides of me. This is mostly a whimsical, romantic line of thinking, but naturally, sometimes it takes a turn into sexytown too. This month I pondered that time I accidentally had two sex-dates in one night but imagined it happened with a primary and secondary partner… *sigh* Bring on all the compersion and cuties, please.

Sexcetera

• I’m addicted to Nick Jonas’s new album, Last Year Was Complicated. (Man, what a title.) It’s catchy, sexy pop music that makes me want to dance the night away and/or get fucked to a pulp – but, like a lot of modern mainstream music, it’s problematic from a feminist perspective. The song “Good Girls” was the impetus for me writing about my relationship with that phrase, because it felt psychologically painful for me to hear my favorite epithet thrown around so carelessly in Nick Jonas’s mouth. (“When did all these good girls decide to be bad? Dancing up on the table, getting back at your dad. Who’s the asshole that told you that’s what you have to do?”) Hey, Nick: your music makes me wet, but your politics dry me right back up again!

• With minimal fanfare (at least, for my attention-slut M.O.), earlier this month I officially linked this blog to my real-life name and identity. My About page now bears my name (hi! I’m Kate!) and links proudly to my other internet homes (journalism portfolio, music, personal Tumblr). Nothing’s really changed, and you can still call me “GJ” if you want! I was just getting sick of keeping my two identities so separate; it felt like I was hiding part of myself from the world, and I don’t want to do that anymore. I’m not ashamed of what I write here, and if some conservative rubberneck in my life finds my blog and is offended by it, that’s on them. Thanks to all of you for supporting me through this transition and always being the loveliest, sweetest readers!

Femme stuff

• I like to wear my collar when I’m feeling subby and small. It gives me a sense of calm and directedness. But it’s not always appropriate to wear what is clearly a kink accessory, so I’ve been experimenting with necklaces that act as “day collars.” My Tarina Tarantino pavé heart necklace is a current fave. I also own a pearl necklace that’d work well, especially given, y’know, the other meaning of “pearl necklace.”

• This month brought a couple of occasions for me to get all femmed up, rockabilly-style. I’m suuuuper into that look: simple matte eyeshadows, sharp-as-hell winged eyeliner, natural-looking blush, and an impeccable red lip. Every time I do my face this way, I think, “I should do this every day!” but then I remember how much I love other looks, like hot pink lipstick, smoky eyes, and even a bare face from time to time.

Little things

Making a “mental health contingency plan” for days when boys are setting off my mood issues. Iced soy hazelnut lattes. My black rhinestoned shorts. “There will come a day when I just order a BJ and a cuddle from you and put you in an Uber at your earliest convenience…” Smiley selfies your friends send you from bed where they’ve just banged each other silly. Shake, Rattle & Roll. Quoting e e cummings poems to people you’re about to kiss. Cute boys who cover my songs. Life advice from my mentors. Marijuana puns. People who use the word “date” when they ask you on a date. Planning a potential sexy tour of New England. Andy Shauf’s new album. Woodhull dreamin’. Femme-flagging. Exchanging saucy nudes with beautiful Twitter femmes. My new computer. “You can’t stop desire; I’ve tried, but you’re fuel to my fire.” Setting goals. Party-planning with Bex. The Adventure Zone. Writing residency proposals and book proposals. Dan McCoy. Peanut butter chocolate Haagen Daaz. “Touching you with no hands.” A cute boy thanking me for taking him on a “tour of [my] subconscious” and then saying, “I’m gonna go in for the kiss now.”

 

What were your sexy favorites this month, angelfaces?

Monthly Faves: Heroes, Queerdos, Stone Crops & Road Stops

mosaicfe4830931c49a5689c415e23f6ef67aef41ed15d

April is always one of my favorite months of the year: the weather gets warmer, school ends, and I get to celebrate my birthday! Here’s some of what made me happy this April…

Sex toys

• When me and Bex get together, spanking inevitably happens. We’re both big fans of impact play – they like to receive, and I like both giving and receiving – so of course, we also share an appreciation for paddles, floggers, crops, whips, canes, and all manner of other impact play toys. In our big road trip across the midwest (more on that later), I bought a purple suede flogger at the Pleasure Chest in New York, a stone crop at Leather & Latte in Minneapolis, and a pervertable paddle-ball at a toy store in Cleveland. So many fun new things for people to hit me with!

• As you might have noticed, I am fond of blowjobs. Normally this doesn’t figure into my masturbation too much, but admittedly, a few of my orgasms this month were intensified by the presence of a Tantus Uncut #1 in my mouth. I like that it’s girthy but not jaw-achingly so, and that the texture of the silicone can feel amazingly real when it’s warm. Hnnnnggg.

• I had the opportunity to visit the Hole Punch Toys studio with some friends this month. It’s located in Minnesota, the homeland of Prince, who had just passed away – so Colin (the brains and brawn behind Hole Punch) had made us special commemorative Prince-themed butt plugs. (!!) They are purple and glittery, and they came in a cardboard storage tube emblazoned with the Prince symbol. So, so, so wonderful and unique.

Fantasy fodder

• I’ve been aching to do service-based submission lately. I want to bring some charming domly person their coffee made exactly the way they like it, help them schedule and fulfill their appointments, and give them a massage at the end of a long day. And then, you know, maybe suck their dick to relieve their stress. Like ya do.

• I’m going to write about this in more detail eventually, but: I recently went out for coffee with someone I’ve looked up to and had a crush on for LITERALLY TWELVE YEARS, and he kissed me. It was the kind of kiss that makes you all tingly and sends out residual ripples in your life. I don’t normally fantasize sexually about kisses – they’re usually so innocuous, or so much just a prelude to more explicit things – but damn, it was a good kiss. And it meant a lot to me.

• A recent hookup made me realize how little I fantasize about penis-in-vagina sex these days. It still feels good and I enjoy it, but I don’t get off on it psychologically the way that I sometimes have in the past. My fantasies nowadays are more focused on kink stuff and what Bex calls “queer sex”: sex involving primarily hands, mouths, and toys.

Sexcetera

• Late in the month, Bex, Taylor, Caitlin and I embarked on a weeklong trip across the northern U.S. We called our journey #HaveDildosWillTravel. I flew to New York on the 21st, we attended AltSex on the 22nd, and then we spent the next two days driving through Pennsylvania, Illinois, Wisconsin, and Minnesota. We stayed in Minneapolis for a few days before turning around and driving all the way back to Toronto. It was a raucous trip full of sex-positive sightseeing, best-friend bonding, and bad jokes. I feel so grateful to have excellent friends whose idea of a good time is in line with mine.

• Speaking of great friends… Early in the month, my closest pals finally convinced me that my burgeoning-but-floundering relationship needed to end. I broke up with my boyfriend and it was the least emotionally affecting breakup of my life, because the relationship had been doomed from the start. It made me realize that I don’t actually want or need to be in a romantic relationship right now, though I’d previously ached for one. Weeks later, on our road trip, I had my first-ever one-night stand, which further drove home the point that maybe fun and feelings-free sex is what I need at the moment.

• School ended for me this month, and my last project – the only thing standing between me and my journalism degree – was an audio series about kink and mental health. I spent most of March and April doing research, conducting interviews, and editing audio. (I’ll let you know where you can listen to it when it becomes available!) As such, a lot of my thinkiest thoughts lately have been about the power of kink in psychological coping and healing. Working on this project felt very “meta” because kinky encouragement helped me get through it: dom-y people in my life instructed me to work hard and gave me verbal and tangible rewards when I did, which kept me on-task during my psychologically tumultuous final stretch before the deadline. I’m proud to say I completed the project and got a great grade on it!

Femme stuff

• I turned 24 while we were on the road, and Bex bought me a gift so sweet and thoughtful that I burst into tears when I opened it: an Aslan Leather collar. I’ve stayed up many a late night staring at leather collars online this year, desperately wanting one for both kink reasons and femme reasons, and this one in particular really spoke to me. I originally thought it might be weird for me to buy myself a collar, given that I don’t currently have a dominant partner to “own” me – but then I became increasingly drawn to the idea of “owning” myself, of being my own dom. Bex giving me my dream collar felt like an acknowledgment from my best friend that I don’t need to wait for that perfect dominant partner to come along; I am a whole person now, capable of taking care of myself and being badass on my own, even though sometimes I feel submissive and small. ♥ ♥ ♥ (Plus, let’s face it: this collar is fucking gorgeous and fits my aesthetic perfectly.)

• I felt a lot of love for my Frye harness boots during our road trip. I’ve stomped all over Canada and the U.S.A. in them, and they’re hardy enough to handle it. I love how they add a little toughness to otherwise-girly looks; there is something so satisfying about pairing a flippy floral dress with chunky black leather boots.

• When I visit the States, I always like to check out the makeup selection in drugstores, because it’s a bit different from what we can get in Canada. I picked up a NYX liquid eyeliner in the shade “Crystal Pink,” and it is so deliciously on-brand for me. Intense pink glitter! Yessss!

What got your rocks off and your gears spinning this month, my loves?

23 Things I Learned About Sex & Relationships At Age 23

image

Today’s my 24th birthday! It’s a good day to reflect on the past year, because I think 23 was my most transformative and educational year yet. I banged and dated a bunch of different people, and it was essentially a crash course in emotional maturity and sexual confidence. Here are 23 of the most valuable lessons I learned about sex and relationships over the past year!

  1. I have a DD/lg kink. I first noticed these feelings back in late 2014 when a hot lawyer inspired some surprising fantasies in my bad little brain. In November I started seeing a dude who was muuuch kinkier and more kink-experienced than me, and when I disclosed to him that I had burgeoning DD/lg fantasies, he knew exactly what to do with that information. I still vividly remember the time I sassily asked him why I should follow his instruction to jerk off for him and he said, “Because you’re a good little girl.” It was the first time anyone had ever said anything like that to me before, and my vagina did cartwheels.
  2. Terrible mental health days are terrible kink days. At least, for me. If I’m already feeling extremely shaky, anxious, or depressed, kink tends to just worsen my mood. I learned my lesson from the time in January when an intense spanking on an already-anxious day made me burst into tears and sob deeply for several minutes while my confused partner tried to comfort me.
  3. but, kink can help with mental health. Paradoxical, yes – but for me, there’s a fine and important line between “too distraught to submit” and “just distraught enough that submitting will actually help.” Pain, punishment and praise can help shake me out of a poor mental health day, used judiciously with a trusted partner.
  4. I can have casual sex… with people I don’t really like. Sex tends to open up my emotional floodgates, intensifying any burgeoning crush-y feels that already exist there. I was able to have some casual, feels-free fuckbuddies this year, but only because we didn’t click romantically. This is useful info for me to know going forward, though it does mean I’m incapable of being “chill” with anyone I even remotely like.
  5. I like pain (in some places). I’ve dabbled in spanking over the years, but it wasn’t until age 23 that I really grasped how much pleasure I can get from pain. Getting my tits and/or ass slapped has become one of my favorite foreplay activities. I even like getting my hair pulled, a proclivity that used to mystify me.
  6. I love giving blowjobs. HOO BOY, this was a big theme of my year. My previous blowjob experience encompassed only one partner, and while he was lovely, his dick and my mouth just didn’t have chemistry. In broadening my BJ horizons, I’ve discovered how much I can crave having a cock in my mouth when the right one comes along. (I’ve gotten pretty damn good at it, too.)
  7. I’m more of a size queen than I thought. Remember when I first started this blog and dildos over 1.5″ in diameter were a stretch for me? That is certainly not the case anymore… Just ask my Eleven, Double Trouble, and Seaside Steamroller!
  8. I need to trust my intuition more. My anxiety is excellent at talking me out of what I know, deep down, to be true. When I let myself listen to my hunches, I can usually tell when someone is flirting with me, likes me, or wants to get in my pants – and it happens more often than my anxiety wants me to realize.
  9. Aftercare is important. Coming from a pretty vanilla history, I never thought much about the importance of aftercare until I really needed it. Fortunately, all my kinky partners this past year (and even the vanilla ones) gave me the post-sex cuddles and reassurances I needed.
  10. Most men like thigh-high socks. They just do.
  11. Sex is grown-up playtime. My favorite sex is the goofy, unstructured kind. I love trying stuff, experimenting, playing around. I’m happiest in sexual partnerships with people who are similarly fun-oriented, rather than goal-oriented.
  12. I like being pinned down. Have you ever had a moment where, suddenly and all at once, you noticed a kink of yours that you never knew you had? That was me last summer when a partner put a firm hand on my upper chest and held me down while finger-fucking me. I went from “huh, that feels pretty good” to “holy shit, I am coming right now!” in about three seconds flat. I’ve been pinned down during sex a bunch of times since then, with similar outcomes. Now that I know I like this, I want to get better at asking for it!
  13. Threesomes are fun, but not really my jam. I’ve gained a reputation among my friends for constantly having threesomes. I’ve only had two, but I guess that’s still more than the average person? In any case, while I enjoyed myself both times, I still prefer the intense, focused connection of a standard one-on-one encounter. (Talk to me in a month, though… I have a rather epic threesome coming up on my calendar that might get me more on board with group sex.)
  14. When you’re sad, sometimes you just gotta feel your feelings. A couple of painful rejections left me in emotional shambles at times this year. I spent a lot of time crying on friends’ shoulders and saying things like, “I’m just so sad! I don’t know what to do!” My friends are fantastic and a lot of the advice they gave me boiled down to this: it’s okay to be sad when sad shit happens. Don’t try to run away from those feelings or distract yourself from them; just live in them for a while. It’s so much easier to move on when you’ve processed your feelings properly.
  15. You can like someone very, very much and they can still be wrong for you. You are not obligated to try to “make things work” with someone who’s a deeply bad match for you. Even if they’re a good person. Even if you adore them in many ways. Even if they don’t understand your reasoning.
  16. Platonic kink is a thing. I learned so much about kink this year, including that it can exist independently of sex. I have friends who fuel me by calling me a “good girl” when I finish my work; I have friends who phone me and speak to me in commanding, daddy-dom tones to calm me down when I’m anxious; I have friends whose kinks I know intimately and (consensually) use to guide them into healthier and happier behaviors. Kink is more than a sexual interest; it can be a psychological tool, a powerful motivator, a framework in which to understand yourself and your place in the world.
  17. Twitter is a great place to meet sexual partners. Half of the new people I banged at age 23 are folks I met on Twitter. Obviously it’s a problematic space and women receive a lot of harassment and abuse through tweets and DMs, but I’ve also built an audience there of clever, compassionate sex nerds, some of whom are pretty great sex partners.
  18. When you like someone, it’s okay to act like you like them. My anxiety makes this tricky, because even the smallest braveries feel like ballsy overtures to me. But I’m working on it. More people should know that they’re cute, and I should tell ’em.
  19. Don’t stake your mood on other people’s behavior. Most of my miserable-est days this year were the result of me believing, “If [person] would just [action], I could be happy right now.” I learned that I need to either change my expectations, or try to make things happen myself; waiting for someone else to read your mind and do what you want them to do is a fool’s errand.
  20. Anxiety-friends are invaluable flirting sherpas. This is no joke: I owe most of my romantic and sexual success this past year to Bex. Any time I didn’t know how to interpret a romantic interest’s flirty behavior, or couldn’t parse a cryptic text, or needed a push in a flirty direction, I went to them for advice. I have other “anxiety-friends,” too, who are willing and able to answer texts like, “[Person] said [thing], are they into me?!” and “What do I wear to a date-that-might-not-be-a-date?!”
  21. I like anal sexI wasn’t sure how I’d feel about it, because my past adventures with butt plugs and anal beads had been inconsistently pleasurable. But, holy fuck, I was into it and I want to do it more.
  22. I don’t need (or want) monogamy, but I do need to feel special. I don’t mind having partners who have other partners. (Yay, #PolyLyfe and compersion!) But I do need my partners to make me feel valued, seen, and focused on when we spend time together. I received a few propositions this year from folks who date/bang a lot of people, and I learned that that only ever feels okay to me if they clearly like me for me – not because they like dating/banging whoever. I’m definitely not anti-promiscuity and there’s nothing wrong with being slutty! I just need a side order of emotional connection with my sluttiness.
  23. Life is too short for bad sex. I believe there are two main ways to be bad at sex: you can be bad at technical skills (“He kisses like a snake!” “Her fingering rhythm is inconsistent!”), and you can have a bad attitude about sex (“He refused to use toys on me!” “She got all sulky when she couldn’t get me off!”). I’d rather be with an enthusiastic newbie than a mopey pro any day. If you’re fun to bone, I’ll probably gladly teach you how I like to be fucked so you’ll know for next time – but if you’re a sad and draining lay, there probably won’t be a “next time.” I’ve raised my standards enough to say no to bad sex – because, frankly, I’d rather just masturbate.

 

Here’s to another sexy, educational year!