5 Times Kink Helped Me Love My Body

One of kink’s many magical qualities: you have to keep talking about it. All the time. There are no assumptions, no scripts, nothing for which consent is presupposed. At least, not the way I prefer to do it.

My first dominant fuckbuddy teaches me this. Our sext exchanges have consent conversations built right in. “I like restraining partners with chains,” he says. “I’m not a fan of being choked,” I say. “Teach me how to make you come with a toy,” he pleads. “I think I want to sit on your face,” I hypothesize.

I get good at asking for what I want. In the throes of subspace during my BDSM hookups, sometimes I lose my words, unable to form sentences longer than “Yes,” “No,” or “Harder” – but the more I try, the easier it gets. Though power exchange often leaves me literally gagged and silenced, it also makes me better at speaking up when I need to.

So after my fuckpal makes one too many vagina-shaming comments in my presence, I decide I don’t want to see him anymore. He’s not into period sex, he’s not into “excessive” wetness, he’s not into falling asleep next to me unshowered after sex – and while it’s fine for him to have his boundaries, it’s also fine for me to have mine. I want sex while I’m bleeding, wet, and/or dirty. My sexual menu just doesn’t feel complete without those things. A partner who can’t unabashedly adore my body in all its various weird states is not a partner I want to give myself over to.

So I tell him. “I don’t think I want to do sex/kink things with you anymore. I’d still like to be friends, though.”

He’s a little taken aback, but fine with it. My sigh of relief is immediately followed by a rush of pride: I identified an unmet need in my life and did something about it. I owned my desires and asserted them. And now I’ll no longer have to bang someone who makes me feel, in the smallest and saddest of ways, like my body is to be tolerated and not to be devoured.

I’m wearing nothing but lingerie in front of a crowd at a sex club. A photographer is snapping pictures. It’s terrifying – but I’m less scared than I thought I’d be, because a hot, brassy babe is bossing me around.

“Bend over and show the crowd your ass,” she barks. “There you go. Good girl. Doesn’t she have a great ass, folks?!”

The crowd bursts into applause, whoops, and yells of affirmation. Apparently they agree with her. I grin and laugh and blush and laugh some more.

I’m midway through a blowjob when my one-night stand starts to get antsy. “Come here,” he growls. My eyes flick upward, quizzical. Can’t I just… stay down here?

I climb up his body to kiss him. “No. Higher.” I straddle his belly. Is he really asking me to…? “Higher,” he commands again. Yep, I guess we’re doing this. I slide over his chest until my vulva is settled over his mouth. He wraps his big strong hands around my thighs and hips and pulls me toward him. My clit has no choice but to tangle with his tongue. I gasp and clutch at the headboard. Fuck, he’s good at that.

I’ve never sat on someone’s face on a first date before. Usually I date someone for months before I let them invite me onto their face. It’s just a lot: they get a mouthful and noseful of pussy, plus an eyeful of belly and underboob and double chin. I worry I’ll crush them with my chubby body, drown them in my juices, embarrass myself with unladylike sounds. I need to believe someone 100% wants me, in all my weird and overwhelming glory, before I’ll feel comfortable giving them that. This requires at least a few months of dating… or, apparently, a well-placed command from a one-off hookup.

See, when you command me to do something, I have to assume you want that thing. Maybe this is part of why I’m submissive: my irksome sexual anxiety insists I’m unattractive, unless and until someone cute is there to insist on the opposite. So, while “I love your body and find you gorgeous” is a highly effective line, “Come here and sit on my face immediately” achieves more-or-less the same purpose.

Sometimes there’s no time to worry about whether I’m “attractive enough,” because I’ve been given an order and I have to do what I’ve been told immediately. It’s important, after all, that I be a good girl.

We’re hours deep into our second date, lying on his bed in the hazy afternoon sun, stoned as fuck. The weed, as per usual, is working its magic: I am craving pain, knowing it will permute into pleasure. I turn to this boy I only met three days earlier and say, slyly: “I want you to spank me.”

I see his reaction in slow motion, because weed does that. He bites his lip, smirks, breaks into a grin. And then he says it: “With what?”

Everything else is slow and so too is the spread of goosebumps over my entire body, from my shoulders down my arms and all down my back. His question outs him as a true kinkster, one experienced with impact play and potentially owning a collection of implements. But what really excites me about this question is the tone of voice in which he said it: dark, rough, and absolutely dripping with want. I can tell he cannot fucking wait until I’m over his lap. And I don’t want to wait, either.

“Your hand, please,” I reply, and hitch up my skirt.

I’ve always hated my butt. The jiggly cellulite, the amorphous shape. I grew up on a steady diet of SuicideGirls and vintage pinups, and coveted those perfect, round butts. Mine did not look like theirs.

I didn’t know, when I got pretty pink bows and the words “good girl” tattooed on my upper thighs, that they would unravel years’ worth of insecurities in one fell swoop. Overnight, I went from trying to orient my body so partners couldn’t see my butt during sex, to openly showing it off and asking gleefully, “Do you like my tattoos?!” It felt odd to go back and look at photos of my backside pre-tattoos – not only did I dislike how it looked, but it also simply didn’t seem like it was mine.

One summer evening, I’m hanging out in an upscale Toronto sex shop with my friend Taylor. He’s teaching an impact play class, and I am the demo bottom. After the introductory preamble, it comes time for me to get spanked. “Should I take my dress off now?” I ask, and Taylor nods. I pull my simple cotton dress off over my head, revealing a matching set of lingerie underneath, and bend over the shop’s grey sofa to show off my ass to the crowd. Taylor explains how to wield a paddle, and then demonstrates. I smile through my grimace of pain, because I know I can handle this.

“You looked so confident tonight,” my boyfriend tells me later when I’m tucked into his bed, “just wearing lingerie in front of all those people.” He’s running his hands all over me and it’s hard to focus on his words, but when I do clue in to what he’s said, I feel proud.

“It wasn’t hard,” I say with a nonchalant shrug. It would’ve been, five years ago, or even one year ago. It would’ve made me cringe and blush and doubt myself. But tonight it was easy. Because I love my body and don’t care if other people don’t.

Just as long as the people I’m dating/kissing/fucking think I’m hot. And judging by the way my boyfriend is groping my ass and nibbling my neck, I would say that he does.


This post was sponsored, and as always, all writing and opinions are my own!

Monthly Faves: Wooden Spoons & Booty Shorts


My therapist asks me occasionally, “Do you feel you have enough social supports in your life?” and my answer is always yes – but this month, it felt more like a resounding “FUCK YEAH!” I am so blessed to have incredible friends and a wonderful community of online followers (that’s you!). Here are some of the sexual and social highlights of my September…

Sex toys

• SheVibe sent me the new Fuze Foreman dildo to review, which I will do soon. While my vagina isn’t exactly aflutter over the Foreman, I am always pleased to see more uncircumcised dildo options on the market. It’s been ages since I’ve banged/blown someone with an intact foreskin and I miss it… but the Foreman is a suitable substitute for the time being!

• In preparation for the #BirthdayBruises spanking party (more on that later), I ordered a couple of wooden “pervertables” off Amazon: a long-handled wooden spoon and a little bamboo rice paddle. My friend Taylor also brought a long wooden shoehorn to the party. I love all sorts of spanking implements, but there is something especially cool about corrupting innocent objects into instruments of kink. A little creativity makes everything more fun.

• I used my hands quite a bit this month. Having an orgasm without any technological assistance always makes me feel like a badass. I usually find those orgasms aren’t as strong or as long-lasting as the ones I have with vibrators, but it’s still a neat talent to have in my back pocket! (Or down the front of my pants, as it were.)

Fantasy fodder

• I sexted a bit with someone this month who mentioned that having someone sit on his face is his favorite thing. It’s been many years since I’ve sat astride someone’s mouth, but I’m not necessarily opposed to it. In real life, my bad hips, bad knees, chubby body, and chronic anxiety make facesitting a nervewracking proposition – but in fantasy, at least, it can be hot as hell. Can I consensually smother a cute boy with my ladybits, please?

• My obsession with A-spot stimulation continues to haunt my sex life, both actual and imagined. For this reason, when I’m sexually interested in someone, I tend to notice the length of their fingers. And maybe think about how those fingers would feel deep inside me. And how the person’s face would look as they fucked me that way. And what they would say to me when they were about to make me come. Unf.


• As you might know, Bex and I launched our podcast this month after working on it for what feels like eons! We’ve been truly blown away by the enthusiastic reception the show has received: over 200 Twitter followers in the first three days after launch, countless supportive tweets, and lots of suggestions for topics we should cover next. If you’ve enjoyed our first couple episodes, we’d love if you could leave us a rating and review on iTunes! Thanks, babes. 💖

• For Bex’s birthday, we co-hosted a spanking party, where several of our closest friends were invited to give Bex a good smackin’ to celebrate their 25th. It was so much fun: a bunch of my favorite people, packed into a cozy Airbnb apartment, talking, laughing, playing music, and engaging in casual impact play. The whole evening made me reflect a lot on how grateful and happy I am to have built the kind of life where an event like this is commonplace. I’m surrounded by sweet, supportive sex nerds and that brings me joy every day. (If you want more juicy details on the party, check out the Storify I put together of all the tweets and Instagram posts from that evening and the planning that led up to it!)

• Many months ago, my friend Anais told me, half-jokingly, “A spanking buddy is just something everyone should have.” In the time since, I’ve often idly wished for a friend-with-benefits where the benefits are just spanking. Don’t get me wrong, I love sex – obviously – but there is something particularly delicious about a spanking just for the sake of a spanking, and not as foreplay or an accessory to bangin’. After some careful discussions of boundaries and expectations, I kinda have the spanking buddy of my dreams now, which is pretty rad.

Femme stuff

• Sometimes when I’m having a bad anxiety day, I take it out on my eyebrows, plucking hairs I shouldn’t. It leaves ’em looking sparse, but that just means I get to put more effort into filling them in with makeup and making them perfect. This month I combined Anastasia Dipbrow, Benefit Gimme Brow and a cheapo drugstore brow pencil to create sculpted brows where there was once just a couple of meager caterpillars.

• Bex wanted to hit up the Black Market while they were in town, and when we went, I fell in love with a Dr. Seuss-esque T-shirt that says “Gonna Fuck This Ham.” I pride myself on my sense of humor, but sometimes I inexplicably laugh way too much at stupid shit. This shirt filled my very soul with glee, so I had to have it, and now it’s mine.

• The Black Market also sells children’s dancewear items, which, if you can find them in a big enough size, can be worn by adults comme moi. They’re delightfully bright and sparkly. I wore a turquoise crop top and pink shorts to our spanking party, prompting a friend of mine to say upon seeing me, “The ’80s called, and they said you look great.”

Little things

Brainstorming big projects. Emotional detox. Pumpkin muffins. Protodome. Going to improv shows by myself as self-care and then treating myself to McDonald’s after. Chatting and laughing hysterically over vegan food for hours with Mia and Ben. Fantasizing about writers’ retreats. Discussing crystals, sex, and intimacy with Khadeja. Honey whiskey and apple cinnamon cider. The Blogcademy. Seth Cohen. How beautiful John and his camera make me look. Sugarpill’s “Birthday Girl” eyeshadow. Taking my friend to buy her first butt plug. Jimmy Stewart impressions. Impromptu slumber parties. Singing “Zidane to Vivi” while Brent played piano. Pesto pollo pasta and dulce de leche cheesecake at 7 West. My nice clean desk. Meeting my baby nephew for the first time. Making hilarious edits for conservative magazines (“mid-bang” to “during intercourse,” for one!). My new glasses. Demo-bottoming for a spanking class, and dreaming of doing that more.


What were your favorite Sex Thingz this month, my loves?