casual sex

12 Days of Girly Juice 2021: 8 Brilliant Books

Kate Sloan

At time of writing, I’ve read 44 books this year – yay! Reading has given me so much pleasure during the pandemic, with its ability to sweep me away into worlds that aren’t wracked by quick-spreading illness and quicker-spreading fascism. (Well, sometimes I do read books where those things are happening, but not typically ones set in our world.) It’s been a much-needed respite from the grind of life.

Here are 8 of the books I loved best this year. You can check out the full list of books I read in 2021 here. Would love to hear from you in the comments if you’ve read any of these, or if you have others to recommend!

 

Torrey Peters – Detransition, Baby

She decides for the ten thousandth time that heterosexual cis people, while willfully ignoring it, have staked their whole sexuality on a bet that each other’s genders are real. If only cis heterosexuals would realize that, like trans women, the activity in which they are indulging is a big self-pleasuring lie that has little to do with their actual personhood, they’d be free to indulge in a whole new flexible suite of hot ways to lie to each other.

This book absolutely exploded this year. It became a national bestseller. The New York Times and Entertainment Weekly called it one of the best books of the year. It got longlisted for the Women’s Prize (to the chagrin of transphobic bigots). And the praise is well-deserved, if you ask me.

Trans writer Torrey Peters’ debut novel is a witty, dishy tale of three people with vastly different relationships to womanhood, who ultimately discover their similarities and find some common ground. Reese is a brassy, world-hardened trans woman who desperately yearns to be a mother; Reese’s morose ex Ames was once a trans woman, but has since detransitioned for reasons that become clear later in the book; and Katrina is a no-nonsense cis woman who Ames accidentally gets pregnant, which is the catalyst that kickstarts the events of the story.

It’s a blazingly funny novel about womanhood, motherhood, the absurdity of gender, the mutability of family, and so much more. I loved it.

 

Leigh Cowart – Hurts So Good: The Science & Culture of Pain on Purpose

I have come to think of my experiences with masochism as a kind of biohacking: a way to use the electrochemistry of my body in a deliberate way for the purpose of curating a specific experience. Something about my response to pain is different, be it inborn or learned (or both, I suspect). It’s something that allows me to craft a little pocket of joy for myself, an engineered release, be it through running a few miles uphill, getting a tattoo, or getting slapped in the face for fun until I cry.

I’ve read a fair number of books that explore sadomasochism through various sexual and romantic lenses, but Hurts So Good is a different kind of book. It investigates a much broader range of masochisms, from kinksters getting whipped in dungeons, to ultramarathon runners exhausting their bodies for the fun of it, to competitive hot pepper eaters scorching their mouths to get an endorphin rush. This is a book about “pain on purpose,” in all the various ways humans seek it out.

I’ve been more and more interested in reading about pain since it became an everyday part of my life due to fibromyalgia, and there’s a fair bit of nerdy pain science in here that scratched that itch for me. But it’s also so much deeper than just brain imaging and neurotransmitters: Cowart examines the psychological, social, and even spiritual reasons that humans have pursued pain through the ages. It’s a fascinating read, whether sadomasochism is a part of your sex life or just a topic you find intriguing.

 

Hanne Blank – Straight: The Surprisingly Short History of Heterosexuality

Historically, what heterosexuality “is” has been a synonym for “sexually normal.” Early in the history of the term, it was even used interchangeably with the term “normal-sexual.” And there, as they say, is the rub. “Normal” is not a mode of eternal truth; it’s a way to describe commonness and conformity with expectations. But what is most common and expected, in terms of our sexual lives or any other aspect of the human condition, does not always remain the same. Sexual expectations and behaviors, like all other social expectations and behaviors, change over time.

It’s always good to re-examine the things you think you know, to figure out whether they are actually true. More often than not, you’ll realize you’ve gotten it at least partially wrong all along.

Astute scholar Hanne Blank examines heterosexuality that way in her excellent book Straight. Our current society takes for granted that straightness has always existed, because it is the natural order of the species and a procreative imperative, blah blah blah – but has straightness always existed? Blank argues, quite convincingly, that it is a relatively new construct we created for ourselves, and that sexuality is now and has always been much more fluid and vague than the strict category of “heterosexual” would lead us to believe.

If you’re scoffing as you read this (“How could that possibly be true?! Straightness is real! Science says so!”) then I think you are the type of person who mosts needs to read this book. It is my view that some of our most significant growth as humans happens when we’re able to soften our rigidities, blur the boundaries we’ve drawn, and apply a lens of nuance to the world – and this book is a challenge to do exactly that.

 

Kai Cheng Thom – Fierce Femmes & Notorious Liars

I wanted to protect you, but I’m starting to think that the best thing you can do for people is teach them how to protect themselves. Every girl needs to be at least a little dangerous.

Kai Cheng Thom is a transcendently brilliant writer, whose work I first read in her advice column for Xtra. This book is a bit of a departure from her typical style: it’s a surrealist novel and a “biomythography” of Thom’s life, meaning that it draws elements from her own life story but is vastly more magical and absurd.

It’s the tale of a young trans girl coming out, moving across the country, finding community, and fighting back against the transphobic powers that be. It has a lot to say about how we grow and change as people, the transformative power of good friendships, and the beauty of stepping into your true self.

 

Allison Moon – Getting It: A Guide to Hot, Healthy Hookups & Shame-Free Sex

What makes casual sex casual? What makes sex sex? It’s a fraught subject, raising issues of morality, pleasure, risk, trauma, and choice. My job is not to convince you one way or another, but rather to give you good information to use to make up your own mind. I promise I won’t shame you for your choices, and I hope you don’t shame other people for theirs.

Gift this book to any young person you know who is interested in, or is pursuing, casual sex for the first time. Gift it to your recently divorced friend who hasn’t dated since the pre-Tinder era. Gift it to anyone whose relationship to casual sex seems tricky, confused, or painful. I really think it’ll help.

Everything that sex educator Allison Moon writes is delightful, but this book is really indispensable. It’s a guide to just about everything you need to know to have satisfying and healthy casual sex, from figuring out what you want, to finding dates, to setting boundaries, to navigating consent, to dealing with tricky feelings that come up. It’s a blueprint for the best sex of your life, whether casual or not.

I deeply wish I’d had this book when I was 22; I could have spared myself a lot of bad sex and broken hearts. But at least it’s out in the world now, and can help a whole new generation of sex-positive cuties.

 

Casey McQuiston – One Last Stop

The first time August met Jane, she fell in love with her for a few minutes, and then stepped off the train. That’s the way it happens on the subway—you lock eyes with someone, you imagine a life from one stop to the next, and you go back to your day as if the person you loved in between doesn’t exist anywhere but on that train. As if they never could be anywhere else.

Wanna read a quirky butch/femme romance novel that takes place primarily on a subway train, weaves in true queer history, features time travel as a prominent plot point, depicts rich and realistic queer friendships, and contains countless LOL-worthy jokes? This is the one.

I got somewhat obsessed with Casey McQuiston’s writing this year, devouring this novel and their other one, and starting to read an advance copy of their next one (being a member of the press has its perks sometimes!). Their work is sharp, full of heart, and shot through with a deep reverence for queerness and queer communities. I laughed and cried my way through this novel and almost wish I could erase it from my memory just so I could experience it for the first time again. It’s a beautiful love story for the ages.

 

Aubrey Gordon – What We Don’t Talk About When We Talk About Fat

I describe mine as work for fat justice. Body positivity has shown me that our work for liberation must explicitly name fatness as its battleground—because when we don’t, each of us are likely to fall back on our deep-seated, faulty cultural beliefs about fatness and fat people, claiming to stand for “all bodies” while we implicitly and explicitly exclude the fattest among us. I yearn for more than neutrality, acceptance, and tolerance—all of which strike me as meek pleas to simply stop harming us, rather than asking for help in healing that harm or requesting that each of us unearth and examine our existing biases against fat people.

As a massive fan of Aubrey Gordon’s podcast with Michael Hobbes, Maintenance Phase, I don’t know why it took me so long to get around to reading her book, but I’m very glad I finally did. It’s a thorough skewering of our society’s rampant anti-fat bias and all the various ways it manifests. It’s compelling and impeccably well-researched, and it should be a required text for anyone studying to become a doctor, therapist, social worker, or policymaker.

Fatphobia and diet culture are horrendously potent forces in our world right now, affecting how fat people are treated on both macro and micro levels every day. What this book points out, using evidence collected from a staggering amount of different reputable sources, is that anti-fat bias is largely predicated on the false notion that significant, sustained weight loss is possible for the majority of people. In reality, being fat isn’t all that different from being tall, in terms of how genetics create that condition and what can be done about it – but the discrimination and harassment fat people face is obviously far worse. If you’ve ever fat-shamed anyone for any reason, you should read this. If you’ve ever stayed silent while someone else was being fat-shamed in your presence, you should read this. If you’re feeling resistant to reading this because you disagree with its argument, you should read this.

It’s 2021. There’s no excuse whatsoever for being a bigot anymore, and that includes being a fatphobic bigot.

 

Jeremy O. Harris – Slave Play

For almost a decade I’ve given myself over to someone who doesn’t dignify me who acts like he’s the prize and I’m the lucky recipient. No motherfucker I’m the prize. Always have been, always will be. Somehow I forgot that. Or I never knew that. How could I? Got so wrapped in you so wrapped up in your presentation. That I forgot myself because when someone presents themselves as a prize you receive them as one.

I was lucky enough to see this play twice on Broadway, and also decided to read the script so I could absorb the words more deeply. It is a truly unique piece of theatre.

At the centre of this story is “race play,” an edgy and controversial kink in which racial differences and/or tropes are eroticized. I first learned about this style of play from Mollena Williams-Haas, a submissive Black woman who identifies as a slave in her D/s dynamic with her partner. (She has a new podcast, by the way – it’s amazing.)

Accomplished playwright Jeremy O. Harris (who also produced the terrific virtual theatre put on by Fake Friends during the pandemic) has weaved a story wherein race play becomes an element of a radical new therapy, aimed at helping the Black partners in interracial relationships experience more comfort, pleasure, and safety with their non-Black partners. It’s a raw exploration of race, class, kink, consent, privilege, power, and so much more. In my mind, the primary message of this play is that self-awareness, and awareness of one’s ancestral history, is crucial if we are to move through the world in ethical and progressive ways. This is a deliberately challenging play – the stage directions on the opening pages counsel the director and performers to avoid any attempt to make the audience feel more comfortable with what they are seeing – and it feels very needed at this time in history. I very much look forward to seeing whatever Jeremy O. Harris does next.

Can Demisexuals Have Casual Sex? (& If So, How?!)

Kate Sloan

Ever since I came out as demisexual 2 years ago, people have had a lot of questions for me about that identity. Some of these include:

Q. What is demisexuality?
A. It’s an identity on the asexual spectrum, characterized by developing sexual attraction only to people with whom one has an existing emotional connection. In other words, demisexuals don’t (and indeed, can’t) become sexually attracted to strangers, or people they have just met and know nothing about; it takes some amount of intimacy, mutual trust, and/or get-to-know-ya time before a demi person can develop a sexual attraction.

Q. How is that different from just preferring sex in relationships over hookups/one-night stands?
A. What you’re describing is a preference; what I’m describing is a sexual orientation. If you don’t like hookups but nonetheless find yourself regularly feeling sexually attracted to people you don’t know or have just met – such as thinking the stranger across the bar is hot, or wishing you could fuck the cute person who just walked past you on the street – then you aren’t demisexual. Also, it’s worth noting that sexual orientation and sexual behavior do not always “match,” so just because a demisexual may not feel sexual attraction toward a person they’ve just met doesn’t automatically mean that they won’t hook up with that person, or won’t enjoy hooking up with that person.

Q. Wait, what? Why would you hook up with someone you’re not sexually attracted to?
A. Oh, gosh. So many reasons. For me personally, the main reasons I do this tend to be 1) the desire for the fun, excitement, and pleasure of the hookup itself, which can exist independently of whether or not I’m attracted to the person I’m hooking up with, and 2) the desire to use sex to get to know someone, so an attraction may develop. (It’s important to remember, too, in trying to understand this concept, that “not attracted to” is not usually the same thing as “repulsed by.”)

 

I thought today would be a good day to dive a little deeper on a question that is related to these, which is: Can demisexuals have casual sex? Or, more to the point, can they enjoy it?

I have indeed jumped onto a free sex app looking for a carnal meet-cute from time to time. I have swept my eyes over the stranger chatting me up at a sex club and thought, “Sure.” I am not immune to these temptations, though for me they are not based on sexual attraction. They’re more based on a desire for pleasure, excitement, and adventure.

In some ways, I think of sex like dancing. Some people say dancing is the most romantic, the most intimate and fun, when you do it with someone you’re in love with, or even just someone you’re attracted to. It may give you that buzzy feeling of crackling energy flowing between you, the desire to lean in close for an impulsive kiss, the sense that everyone else in the room has faded away and it’s just you and your dance partner, whirling and gyrating. But at the same time, I’m sure you can think of instances when you’ve danced with (or near) someone you weren’t in love with, weren’t even attracted to, and still had a good time. Perhaps you didn’t even know their name. Maybe the music was good, or the athleticism of the dancing got your heart rate up in an invigorating way, or you just enjoyed the fun of getting to know someone from the way they move. It may not have even mattered if you ever saw the person again; your one shared dance was a self-contained encounter that was pleasing in and of itself, and required neither a deep emotional connection nor a later reunion for more dancing. It is likely that your dance partner, or you, simply disappeared into the night sometime after the song was over, and you both moved on with your lives, not feeling pulled to reunite and reconnect, but still happy to have shared that experience with someone who seemed cool.

That’s how I feel about casual sex as a demisexual. It’s not necessarily the best version of sex I can have, or the most emotionally resonant, but that’s not really the point. It’s about fun and frivolity and feeling alive.

 

I suppose this raises the ethical question of whether your “dance partners” – by which I mean sex partners – need to know you’re not attracted to them. After all, to visit site after site and use app after app searching for a hookup can be an exhausting process; if mutual attraction is what they’re after, don’t they deserve to know upfront that it’s not an option, so they can swipe left and move on to the next?

I actually don’t think so, and here’s why. Most people don’t know what demisexuality is. Hell, most people don’t even know what asexuality is. They have not probed the concepts of sexual orientation versus sexual behavior. They have not pondered the ways a person can enjoy sex without attraction. So all they’re gonna hear, when you try to explain, is “I find you repulsive, but I’ll still have sex with you, if you want, I guess,” even if that’s not at all what you feel you’re expressing.

Should an opportunity arise in conversation, I’ll sometimes disclose something like, “I generally take a while to warm up to people,” or “I enjoy sex more when it’s with someone I’ve already had sex with a few times.” These statements have the added benefit of planting the seed in the other person’s head that you’d be open to an ongoing friends-with-benefits arrangement or similar, rather than just a one-off encounter. But they’re also a way of telling your date the truth about yourself, hopefully without making them feel like a gross gargoyle being thrown a bone (so to speak).

 

I will say, my demisexuality works more like a dimmer switch than an on/off toggle. If a deep emotional connection gets me hot, a shallower-but-still-present emotional connection gets me… warm. This – among other, more practical reasons, like my physical safety – is why I prefer to go on a date that may or may not end in a hookup, rather than just going over to a stranger’s house (or inviting them over to mine) for immediate sex. You typically can’t develop profound intimacy in the timespan of just one date, but you can develop some intimacy. I like to ask people not only basic first-date questions (job, family, hobbies) but also slightly more probing questions, that may reveal something deeper about who they are, such as:

  • What’s your passion?
  • Read any good books lately?
  • Does the climate crisis worry you?
  • Overall, are you happy with your life?
  • What’s the best thing that’s happened to you today?
  • What’s the last thing that made you laugh really, really hard?

Beyond helping make attraction possible for me (even if it’s just a mild attraction), these types of questions are also just… fun to hear people answer, even people you’ve just met. One of my favorite things about dating and hooking up is getting to know new people. Even though I’m a huge introvert and can only handle it in small doses, I find it delightful and eye-opening to chat with people from different walks of life about their experiences, opinions, hopes, and fears. Getting to learn more about humanity and get laid in the same evening? What’s not to like?!

 

Lastly, I feel it’s important to add that you can always say no to sex, for any reason you want. You can say no to the idea of casual sex altogether, and just stay home reading a book. You can say no to the random person who asks you out via Tinder, if their vibe rubs you the wrong way or you just don’t feel like going out. You can say no to staying for another drink, if by the end of the first one you’re bored to tears or just wishing you were home watching Netflix instead. You can say no when your date asks you back to their place, whether it’s a “no, but maybe next time” or a permanent kind of no. You can say no when you’re back at their place (or yours), after a nightcap or after some kisses or after some touching or whenever the hell you want. You can say no to seeing them again. You can say no at any time, for any reason or for no reason at all, and anyone who makes you feel like you can’t is someone you should get away from as soon as you possibly can. (Block their number, too. You deserve better.)

As a demisexual, I’ve found that the most likely juncture of a date when I might need to say no is when we’re paying for our drinks/dinner/whatever and have to decide whether to move to a second location. If I don’t want to have sex with them, right then or perhaps ever, but they’ve made an invitation for me to do so, I can say:

  • “Thank you, but no.”
  • “I’m not really feelin’ it.”
  • “It was nice meeting you, but I need to get some rest.”
  • “I don’t think we’re a great fit, but thanks for your time.”
  • “I’ve had a lovely time, but I think I’m just gonna head home.”
  • “I’m not really feeling sexual chemistry here, but I hope you have a good rest of your night.”

I used to feel guilty about doing this, as if I had “wasted their time” by declining sex when there was an unspoken agreement that sex would (or could) happen. But frankly, anyone who believes sex is an obligation, in any context and for any reason, is not a safe person to have sex with. This is also why I prefer to pay for my own drinks/food/transport on all first dates; I need all the help I can get convincing myself that I never owe anyone anything and am free to say no at any time. There is always a chance that someone will get angry and/or aggressive when rebuffed in this way, however gently; this is one of the many reasons it’s best to have all first dates in public, well-lit places where there are plenty of other people around.

 

Are you a demisexual person who enjoys casual sex? What are your tips and tricks for having demi-friendly hookups?

 

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

The True Meaning of Friendship (with Benefits)

Kate Sloan

I’ve been fucking my friend with benefits for over two years and we’ve never taken a selfie together.

If this doesn’t seem that strange to you, I should explain: I take selfies with almost everybody who matters to me. My romantic partners, my friends, my family. Sometimes random people I meet at shows, if they’re into it. It’s a small act of digital-age intimacy. And I’ve never done it with this person whose dick has been in my hands and my mouth and my cunt occasionally-but-repeatedly for almost two and a half years.

If he read this, he’d probably offer to take a selfie with me on the spot – he’s that kind of sweetheart. But the selfie isn’t the point. The point is that we’re trained to think of casual sexual relationships as emotionally inconsequential, and thus undeserving of intimacy, care, and consideration. I think these connections can provide so much more value than we give them credit for, and that they therefore deserve kindness and tenderness just like our romantic relationships – if not the same amount, then at least the same quality.

Like Carsie Blanton, I think we’re too precious with our usage of the word “love.” We wall it off inside a spire and reserve it for a tiny subset of the people who make our heart stir. Then we imagine, by extension, that only those people deserve our focused attention, our empathetic concern, our “Thinking of you!” texts and “I missed you!” greetings. When I’ve lamented my loneliness during slutty phases, these things are most of what I’ve wanted: the comfort and consistency of a relationship, by which I don’t necessarily mean a romantic one.

Days after my last brutal breakup, my FWB trekked to my parents’ house, which I was in the process of moving out of. We’d planned a sex date before all of this drama unfolded, and, against the impulses of my crushing depression, I didn’t cancel it. My room was piled high with half-packed boxes and half-used tissues; a heart-rending rejection is a great way to derail a big undertaking like a move. But his lanky, warm body filled the space with light I thought I’d lost. “I know you’ve had a hard week,” he said, throwing an arm around my shoulders. “We don’t have to do anything. We could just cuddle, if you want. I just want to be here for you.”

I didn’t cry. These words, uttered by a romantic partner, would’ve summoned the floods. But my tear ducts shuttered up instinctively; this boy was only my casual sex-pal. Our genitals knew each other better than we knew each other as people. It didn’t seem right. Still, I thanked him, and we went ahead with the sex we’d planned, because I wanted to feel wanted again. As he moved inside me, I reflected on how this thing between us had become more than sex but less than love. Maybe that’s what it feels like when a friend with benefits is truly a friend.

Our friendship, now, is verifiable and undeniable. He’s been to my birthday parties; he’s commented on my Facebook selfies; he’s chatted with my partner about cocktails in my kitchen. I’ve confided in him about things even some of my friends (sans benefits) don’t know: career anxieties, relationship hopes, depression struggles. We’ve exorcized our troubles in a sex-club swimming pool, ciders in hand, and then smoothed them over with kisses. We’ve been patient with each other’s bodies when they were uncooperative or hurting or menstruating. Sex with him has been a balm, a rock.

What strikes me most about this copulationship, compared to some others I’ve had, is that it’s built on a bedrock of genuine esteem and respect. He doesn’t reduce me to a wet hole he can fuck, nor does he assess our encounters by how much sex was had or how good it was; while the sex is partly the point of getting together, it isn’t the whole point. He checks up on me via text, asks how I’m doing, says he misses me. He makes me laugh and compliments my “magic vagina.” He treats me, in short, like a friend who he happens to be banging – which unfortunately isn’t always the case in FWB arrangements.

I’d like for these relationships to be acknowledged and understood as the powerful connections they can be. When asked, I say I have two partners right now – by which I only mean two sexual partners, but still, something feels good and right about acknowledging my FWB in the same breath as the person I hold hands with in public and introduce to family members and want to be with for a long time. These two relationships have different levels of commitment, of upkeep, of social validity and recognizability, but they are equally as valid and equally as worthy of my attention and appreciation.

I’ve never said “I love you” to my FWB and probably never will, because I don’t love him romantically and never have. But there are casual equivalents in our friendship, which make me feel safe and valued in the same way an “I love you” does – like the time he randomly texted me while he was at work to say, “By the way, I think you’re pretty neat.”

How to Turn a Hook-Up Into a Friend With Benefits

Kate Sloan

Damn, why’s it so hard for a girl to find a fuckbuddy around here?! A lot of paid dating sites are relationship-focused, while the free hookup sites that are actually free focus primarily on one-off fucks. There’s not a lot of recourse for those of us who want something in the middle: a reliable and enduring connection, without the potentially draining heaviness of a new romantic relationship. Where do you even go to look for a sweet and dedicated fuckpal these days?

Back when I was actively trawling Tinder on the regs, often my “holy grail” was the hope of turning a one-night stand into a FWB. I viewed these low-stakes dates as “auditions” and sought chemistry I thought could translate into something more lasting. And I indeed picked up some terrific bang-buddies in the process, so I guess I know what I’m talking about. Here are my best tips for morphing a fuck into a fuck-friend…

Be upfront about what you want. Some people treat Tinder as essentially Grindr for straight people (…or gay people or bi people or pan people or whatever the case may be) and make it clear that they’re only looking for one night of magic, not an ongoing connection. Since that’s pretty much the norm, you have to make your intentions clear if that’s not where you’re at. Even something brief like “ideally looking for a FWB situation” in your bio can attract the right kinds of people while scaring off the ones who want something else.

Showcase your awesome personality. For me, the difference between someone I want to bone once and someone I want to keep boning is primarily how I feel about just hanging out with them when we’re not having sex. If I can’t stand their brain, why would I wanna keep fucking their body? By that same token, someone smart and hilarious will definitely creep up my “dream FWBs” list faster than a boring clod. So don’t turn into a sex-focused cyborg: let that sparkling personality shine!

Give a shit about your partner’s pleasure. One-night stands aren’t exactly known for conjuring the heights of ecstasy. It’s tough to get to know someone’s body well enough that quickly to really knock their socks off. But if you demonstrate a passion for pleasing, you’re likelier to get a callback. You may be on the hunt for something casual, but that doesn’t mean you get to slack off in the sexual generosity department!

Appeal to their kinks and fantasies, and share yours. Granted, not everybody gets into a sexual psychology discussion on the first (or only) date, but if you do, remember what they tell you! If they’re a burgeoning sadist, secret submissive, or humiliation glutton, you may not be able to work that stuff into a first-time bang sesh, but it could give you material for future sexting and lascivious invitations. Sexual chemistry isn’t just about how your bodies fit together – it’s also about how well your fantasies mesh, and to what extent you’re able to stimulate each other’s minds. Hinting at compatibility in this area can make you seem like a more alluring FWB.

Make them an offer they can’t refuse. Okay, they can still refuse it, obviously, ’cause consent. But inviting your hookup to an event – like a theme night at a local sex club – can be a cool way to follow up after a one-night encounter. You could also invite them over for a particular sexual purpose: “I’m craving that cock in my mouth again,” for example, or “I’m curious about those rope bondage skills you mentioned last time.” The specificity of these offers makes them more appealing, and easier to say “yes” to, than something more nebulous like “Wanna hang out again sometime?” Enough of these repeat encounters and you might just parlay your one-off into an ongoing thing.

Have you ever transformed a one-night stand into an open-ended copulationship? How did you go about it?

 

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

A Casual Love Letter to My Casual Lovers

Kate Sloan

I don’t love you, I’m certainly not in love with you, but we approach our time together with fondness, care, and – yes – love.

When I ask you to touch me a certain way, you do it – which is no small thing. When I want you to touch me a certain way, I feel comfortable asking for it – which is no small thing.

When someone else breaks my heart, it isn’t your responsibility to put it back together. But sometimes you do, a little bit. Maybe without even knowing that’s what you’re doing. Sometimes your touch heals me and it’s always a surprise, because it’s never something I expect to want or expect to get.

When my body feels broken and ugly and wrong, you remind me that it isn’t. You play me like a xylophone until we both can hear my nerve endings sing. I feel whole and gorgeous under your hands.

Beaten down by love’s little twists, I sink into the fiction that maybe no one will ever want me again and maybe I’ll deserve that. You break the spell and show me what I always know is the real truth: that I am wanted and wantable, loved and loveable.

You are both training ground and sacred soil. I try out new tricks without shame because the stakes are low and the payoff is high. I find my footing in your company. When I fuck up, you laugh, but with mirth and not malice.

Without the tangles of dashed hopes and unmet expectations hanging like cobwebs, I’m free to enjoy pleasure without heartache. I pull you closer without fearing I’ll scare you away. I hold on tight while we’re together, softening my heart and soaking you up, and when we’re apart I let you go. No effort, no struggle. It’s practically Zen.

For days or weeks, we forget each other, wrapped up in our respective adventures. And then a text or two. “I saw something that reminded me of you…” “Remember that time when we…” “I hope to see you again soon.”

You’re like a lucid dream within my waking world. A quiet burst of glee untethered to anything else I know. We show up, make each other laugh, make each other come, and part ways. An equable bargain, a cloudless reverie.

On the streetcar ride home from the sex club, I sit all chlorine-damp and fuck-drunk, smiling like the luckiest girl in the world. Because every time I see you, I am.