Sadsturbation: Hobby of the Heartbroken and Horny

One night, in the throes of a mind-numbing depression, I nuzzle my nose into my boyfriend’s chest. He tells me he’s feeling out of sorts as well, and sex is off the table tonight. “You are more than welcome to masturbate, though,” he adds.

“Nah, I don’t want to do that,” I reply instantly. I don’t mean it as the guilt trip it probably sounds like; it’s just that masturbation holds no appeal for me now, while sex still does. Partnered sex, when I’m depressed, is like visiting another world – a world where my selfish problems are distant and unimportant, where everything boils down to connectivity and sensuality, and where my pleasure is useful to someone other than myself. Sex is a mutual joy that brings me out of my self-absorbed misery and into the light of another person’s gaze. I can be someone else when I’m having sex, someone who isn’t depressed, if just for a little while.

We don’t have sex that night, and we don’t masturbate, either. We connect physically in other ways – touching, kissing, cuddling – and it feels like almost enough.

In the morning, I hold his hand while we walk dazedly down the street, and I confess I haven’t masturbated in over a week. A long time for me. “I think tonight I’m gonna get high and party down with my Hitachi,” I say, noticing immediately how much the idea does not appeal to me, while also recognizing how necessary it is to my wellbeing.

“I’ll help. I’ll sext you,” my partner replies, and I want to cry because it is the most selfless thing I have ever heard.


Many people report that when they’re depressed, their libido goes away. Mine rarely works that way. It goes deeper underground, maybe, or I get distracted from it for a while – but it’s always there.

But masturbating while depressed is a task and a half. It’s like trying to go ballroom dancing with an anvil chained to your ankle. Sure, you can do it. But it’s probably gonna be fucking miserable and you’re gonna feel exhausted the whole time.

When I’m depressed – whether due to situational factors, biochemical factors, or both – I often think of masturbation as a medicine I must force-feed myself. It won’t be pleasant or fun, in the way masturbation is “supposed” to be. But it’ll shift my neurotransmitters just enough, lift my crushing depression just enough that I can get out from under it for a little while.

The entire process may feel unappealing from start to finish – but at the very least, it’ll remind me that my body is capable of pleasure. Even if the pleasure is muted. Even if I feel undeserving of any pleasure at all.


Sexual fantasies are supposed to be fun. What happens when they aren’t anymore?

What happens when the person who fucks you most reliably in your fantasies is also the person who broke your heart? What happens when thinking about them makes you cry, but you can’t get off without thinking about them? When your precious, elusive orgasms hinge on replaying memories that make you want to weep and hurt yourself and give up on love forever?

Sometimes you find distraction tactics, workarounds. You mentally replace the object of your affections with a beloved celebrity or fictional character: Jim Halpert, John Watson, Rosa Diaz. You seek out new porn or erotica to repopulate your sexual fantasies with people and situations that don’t hurt. You cultivate a crush on a fresh new human, a crush for the sake of crushing.

Other times, though, you wade headlong into your heartbreak. You spritz on the cologne of the person who wrecked your heart, murmur to yourself all the dark hot things they said to you, and try to fuck yourself like they did – in that sweet special way you worry no one will ever fuck you again.

In discussing the ends of relationships, we rarely mention the unique pervy grief of missing the way your lost love fucked you. In losing them, you are also losing that particular flavor of sex you loved so much. Maybe no one else will do those particular things to you ever again – or maybe they will, and it’ll just be different; better, even. But sometimes, for the time being, you just have to mourn melancholically for that particular flick of their wrist, that one thing they could do with their tongue, those magnificent words they knew how to whisper at the always-perfect moment.

Two tools I return to in my saddest masturbation sessions, time and time again, are the Magic Wand Rechargeable and marijuana.

Weed can make me horny when seemingly nothing else can. It lifts the pressure of my sadness slightly, just enough to let arousal flow in. I might still be aware of the heartbreaks weighing on me, but they seem less impactful – like how weed makes physical pain feel like pleasure to me. I am aware that it hurts but, absurdly and blessedly, I do not mind.

The Magic Wand, on the other hand, gives me the distance from my genitals that I seem to need when I’m depressed. When the very idea of sticking my hand into my panties feels distasteful, when even contemplating my own heat and wetness and skin feels unsettlingly intimate, a wand vibe can save the day. I just turn it on and press it against myself through layers of fabric, and it does what it’s made to do – no nauseating touchy-feeliness required.

Sometimes my third go-to when cryin’ and jerkin’ it is reliable porn – reliable in the sense that it almost always turns me on and helps me get off. For me, this category is basically limited to Heather Harmon‘s POV blowjob videos. But even Heather, in all her dependable beauty and skill, sometimes makes me sad when I’m sad already. I contemplate the rumors that she divorced her husband, which would prove once and for all that even terrific sex full of care and love cannot always save a relationship. Or sometimes I just stare jealously at Heather and Jim’s sexual rapport, profoundly bitter I’ve never felt as connected to anything as Heather seems to feel to her husband’s dick.

Look, porn is great, but sometimes I just need to turn off my brain and focus on the vibrator thrumming against me. Orgasms don’t have to be about anything. Sometimes they can just happen, unmoored and isolated from any mental stimulus. Sometimes that’s the exact type of orgasm I need, or the only kind of which I’m capable.


Though my partner’s explicitly offered to help me get off by sexting me, I’m too anxious to ask directly – knowing he’s not in the sexy headspace that could make sexting a fun thing for us rather than just for me. I ask for it in a way that feels safe. “If you felt inclined to tell me some hott things to help me in my quest, I would be amenable to that,” I hem and haw.

“Has your quest already begun?” he asks, and we’re off to the races.

He guides me through a sext-a-thon that feels more meditative than sexy – like when a yoga teacher asks you to visualize a waterfall, an ocean, a bold white light spreading through your body from the inside out. “Imagine me putting my hands on you, kissing you,” he texts. He doesn’t need to describe how he would kiss me if he was here; I already know. “I’m going to slide my hand between your legs, over your panties. I can feel you getting wet already.” He’s right. I am.

In sext-land, he chokes me, fucks my face, pushes his fingers inside me. I can see it, feel it, and it’s some semblance of something I deeply need. Hot tears drift down my cheeks and dry on my lips as I pant and moan. He is so sweet and selfless to type these words of salacious encouragement into his phone for me, when I know he doesn’t feel like it. He understands that this sexual interaction is more than sexual to me; it’s life-affirming, mood-lifting, intimacy-building. It’s a “sexual favor” in the sense that it’s sexual and a favor, but it’s so much more than that.

“I know you’re going to come for me like a good girl,” he writes. “Turn that toy up higher.”

I crank the wand. I’m surprised at how close I am, in almost no time at all. For a week, arousal’s felt like a jewel in a locked treasure chest – and here he is, handing me the goddamn key.

“I’m so close, daddy,” I tell him.

“I want you to come for me, princess,” he writes back.

I do. It’s delicious and deep. I feel something shift in my brain – something small but important.

“Mm, I did it, daddy. That was really nice,” I type. “Thank you.”

Good girl,” he responds, and for the first time in days, I feel like I might actually be a good girl. A girl whose brain isn’t swimming in depression. A girl who believes in herself, and can accomplish things. A girl whose daddy wants her to be happy, and who can therefore soldier on.

I set my Hitachi down, put my phone away, wipe off the tears half-dried on my face, curl up contentedly, and go to sleep. Maybe I’ll be okay after all.

Monthly Faves: Handsex, Hot Doms, & a Happenstance Threesome

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I was very smitten with November. After coming back from a two-week stint overseas, I felt even more in love with my hometown of Toronto than I normally do – not to mention, extra appreciative of the friends I had left behind here. I spent a lot of this month laughing, talking, and/or having sex with people who are super important to me, and all of it felt cozy and affirming. ❤️ Here are some of the products, ideas, and experiences I loved most this month…

Sex toys

• Kenton from Funkit Toys sent me a prototype of his Signet, a textured ring meant to be worn on the fingers for added stimulation during handsex. I wore it out to some events and several people marveled at my “elegant” ring, which I found hilarious. I was excited to use it with my FWB, since he’s already one of the best fingerbangers I’ve ever encountered – and holy jeez, it was great. As soon as he started fucking me while wearing the Signet, my decibel level rapidly increased, such that he laughed and said, “Oh, you like that, huh?!” Indeed: the texture adds an intensity that makes fingerbanging – already a favorite act of mine – even more delicious. Go buy a Signet; you only have until December 9th to do so!

• I spent the first 8 days of the month in Europe with no sex toys at my disposal except the G-Spoon and Tango I’d impulsively decided to bring. When I’m at home, these are both “second-string” toys for me: I’ll reach for the G-Spoon if I’m not up to the task of accommodating the Double Trouble or Eleven‘s girth, or if I specifically want to fantasize about having my A-spot fingered, and I’ll grab the Tango if I want something more pinpoint than the Magic Wand or that I can take in the bath. But maaan, they sure did the trick. The easiest formula for getting me off is a rumbly clit vibe + an A-spot-focused dildo, and this combo totally wins by those criteria.

• I bought a Hole Punch Fluke in a gorgeous blue ombré colorway. My vagina is deeeeeply enamored. It’s moreso a vaginal plug than a dildo; I like keeping it inside me while I watch porn and hold a Magic Wand to my clit. It’s the laziest possible way to administer G-spot stimulation and I love it.

Fantasy fodder

• When I’m in the mood to watch a dominant lady boss people around and be mean to ’em – a rare craving for me, but a potent one when it does come up – my first choice is always Aiden Starr. She’s one of the best dirty-talkers in the biz and she follows through on her smack-talk. I like this clip of “mad scientist” Aiden studying Daisy Ducati’s ejaculations, and Aiden forcing an orgasm out of Sara Luvv with a clit pump and a wand vibe. Good gawd, lady’s got game.

• I mentioned this in my Double Trouble post, and probably repeatedly on Twitter, but I’m not over my usually-vanilla-but-sometimes-vaguely-dominant FWB telling me, “See what happens when you trust me?” after I took his advice to relax into pleasure and he made me come. He told me later that he keeps his dom-y dirty-talk infrequent, partly because it makes him nervous but partly because the effect is heightened if his quips are few and far between. Um, yup. Very yup.

Sexcetera

• Mid-month, I had some friends over for a get-together, and among them were my favorite fuckpal and a beautiful lady. The day before, Suz had dreamed we had a threesome, so it was on my mind… as was the fact that each of these people had independently told me they’d be down to threesome with the other one. I took them each aside to separately ask if they were feelin’ threesome-y, and they both said yes – so later that night, after my other guests had skedaddled, a magical threesome materialized in my bed. It involved marijuana, a double blowjob, fingerbanging, toy-ramming, ample use of the Magic Wand Rechargeable, and lots of giggly makeouts wherein me and Suz kept squealing “You’re so pretty!” at each other. Overall: fantastic.

• Remember earlier this month when I told you all about how weed makes sex better for me? Yeah, I really practiced what I preach this month. At one point, my FWB and I got super high and he did stuff to my nipples with his hands and mouth, and I actually felt like I was sailing out of my body and into the astral plane from the sheer ecstasy of it. “That was hot,” he told me afterward. Yes, it certainly was.

• Some of my work elsewhere this month: I enthused about temperature play and ranted about buying partners sex toys for Ignite. I have a column about the decline of PIV in the latest issue of This. And on our podcast, Bex and I talked about handsex, PIV, butt stuff, and sexting. (Are you subscribed to our show yet?!)

Femme stuff

• I wanted to buy something glamorous while in Italy (’cause “When in Rome”!), so I stopped into a Sephora and picked up Armani Rouge d’Armani lipstick in “Lucky Red.” It’s the exact kind of red I like best: classic, cool-toned, and creamy but not glossy. The magnetic-closure tube makes me feel like a futuristic megababe, and the shade itself is a hot pop of confidence. I loooove it.

• When I’m feeling sartorially uninspired, I like dressing with a particular character or occasion in mind. When I went to an Andy Shauf show this month, I dressed like a navel-gazing hipster so I’d fit in with his crowd. When depression made it hard for me to get out of bed on American Thanksgiving weekend, Bex sent me a picture of them in their fancy family dinner outfit and told me to wear what I’d wear if I was going to their dinner with them. Other recent “costumes” include “hot grown-up Wednesday Addams,” witchy goth babe, and “butch greaser.” Hey, whatever works.

• I’ve been wearing my hair very curly lately (see also, and also, and also). My hair is naturally wavy, but a little wizardry with DevaCurl gel and a Turbie Twist can kick it up to eleven. Having giant hair makes me feel powerful, and I dig it.

Little things

This guide to helping a partner who’s having an anxiety meltdown (potential suitors, take note!). Putting lipstick on my five-year-old cousin at her request. The extreme peacefulness of the Ġgantija ruins. Curvy-lady statuettes. Hazelnut gelato, tiramisu, and cacio e pepe. Artistic advice from people I respect. My friend Lilly’s post about the BlogSquad. My SAD lamp. Going clothes shopping with hot friends and gasping dramatically over how gorgeous they look. Dancing to the Elwins in a dim basement with a new friend. Crackin’ jokes with my ex in a blessedly not-awkward way. “I’d die if I saw you; I’d die if I didn’t see you there.” Friends who happily accept my introvert-y proclivities. Making sweet potato risotto while listening to The Adventure Zone. Meeting a guy with swoopy hair at a party and telling him he looked like a Pokémon villain. Intoxicated BJs. Getting sex toys in the mail (always). Touch the Skyrim. Laughin’ it up with Brent and a bunch of nerds at a Use Your Words playtest. Makin’ New Year’s Eve plans with some babes I adore. Telling stories at TMSG (ideally when the people the story’s about are sitting in the front row and giggling at me). Sleeping At Last’s Atlas: Year One and his new Christmas album. My FWB doing a spot-on impression of my sex noises for my amusement.

What were your fave sexy thingz this month, babes?

“Every Feminist’s Ideal Boyfriend…”

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During the shitstorm of anti-feminist trolls I faced after the publication of my Establishment article, the funniest criticism I received was this: “Every feminist’s ideal boyfriend is a Hitachi Magic Wand.”

A conservative blogger had written about me and my degenerate sex toy collection, and I clicked the link while at a party with a bunch of friends. When a concerned pal saw what I was reading, he cooed, “Aw, don’t look at that,” and tried to take my phone from me so it wouldn’t ruin my night. But I wasn’t sad or angry; I was giggling my ass off.

It struck me (and still strikes me) as so funny that these anti-feminist, anti-woman, anti-pleasure curmudgeons think sex toys are incompatible with the presence of a real-life partner. These people honestly believe that by sheer virtue of owning dozens of vibrators and dildos, I am scaring away anyone who might want to bang me. This couldn’t be further from the truth.


I’m throwing clothes and toiletries into a backpack, getting ready for a weekend at my boyfriend’s place. It’s a rarity: he has the house to himself, with his family being out of town. We are going to fuck on every available surface.

My eyes land on my sex toy drawers and I realize some important decisions need to be made. “What toys should I bring?” I text my love. While waiting for him to respond, I idly graze my fingers over my Tango, Orchid, and Wahl.

The reply comes back: “Your Eroscillator. Duh.”

I should have known. He loves how hard that toy makes me come, while his cock is deep inside me or his fingers probe my G-spot. Sometimes he even hands it to me during sex without me needing to ask – a non-verbal assertion that, yes, he values my pleasure, it’s important to him, it turns him on, and he can’t wait to feel me clenching around him.

I wrap the Eroscillator’s cord carefully around its body and slide it into my bag, then skip off toward the subway station.


27 percent of the people I’ve banged have owned their own Magic Wand (to my knowledge, anyway). That’s no small number. That’s 1.3 in 5. Those odds are pretty good, compared to the world at large. I have excellent taste in partners.

Though self-pleasure is obviously an important ideal to me, I’m especially charmed by cis men who own a Magic Wand purely for the usage of the women they bone.

These are usually men to whom their partners’ pleasure matters a great deal. They’re the type of men who want you to come, but who will back the fuck off if you tell them it’s probably not gonna happen tonight and you’re okay with that. The type of men who will patiently offer up their fingers, mouths, dicks, and talented toy-wielding hands if it means they get to watch you writhe and convulse beneath them. The type of men who will never judge you for getting sweaty, red-faced, breathless, loud, and incoherent during and after your orgasm, because to them, that’s not unattractive – it’s the whole point.

When I’m flirting with someone new and sex toys come up in conversation, sometimes I learn that my flirtee owns their own Hitachi. It’s usually mentioned so casually and offhandedly, I could miss it if I zoned out for just a moment. But it’s info that perks my ears right up, because I know what it’s likely to mean.


“I bought it for an ex-girlfriend, but she didn’t want it,” he says with a shrug as he plugs it in.

“Lucky for me,” I fire back, unwrapping a condom to pull over the thing’s unwieldy, porous head.

I’m already wet from his deft fingers, so he can push them right into me again once the Hitachi is settled on my clit. I turn it on just as he finds my A-spot and have to bite down on my own hand to keep my moans at a reasonable decibel level. The deep vibrations rocking my entire clit combine with his sweetly insistent fingers, and I zoom right into “about to come” territory within seconds.

It doesn’t take much. I’m just thinking that I wish he would say something nurturing and domly to me to push me over the edge, when he leans in and mutters, “Does that feel good? Yeah? Like that?” And then I’m coming all over his fingers, sinking my teeth even deeper into my own skin. The vibrator rattles noisily against my sudden wetness and I leave it there until I can’t stand it anymore.

“Man, I love that thing,” I breathe. He laughs and says, “Yeah, I could tell.” We curl up to sleep: him spooning me, and me spooning the Hitachi.

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The way I use sex toys with partners, it’s a way they can prove to me that they trust and respect my authority over my own body.

I rarely just hand a partner a toy and let ’em go wild with it. Usually I’ll hand it to them while listing some very specific instructions. “Push it all the way into me, tilt the tip up toward my belly, and move in and out in small motions. Yeah, like that. A little bit faster, please.”

Or sometimes I’ll just hold the damn thing myself. I’ll press a vibrator against my clit or external G-spot while my partner fucks me with fingers, a toy, or his dick. Since my clit is a total princess, it’s often easier if I handle that part myself, freeing him up to do other things.

I don’t attract the type of person who’d pridefully try to control my toys against my wishes. I wouldn’t want to bang that type of person, anyway. I only want to be with people who respect my autonomy, my knowledge of my own body, my pleasure preferences. And when a partner hands me a vibe without getting butthurt about it, without sulking in disappointment, without seeming to feel devalued or unneeded, it just proves he trusts me to know what’s best for me.

It’s a feminist act, in some ways. It’s a man saying-without-saying, “Your body is yours, you’re smart and experienced, and your pleasure matters. I’d love to be a part of that, if you’ll let me. And if not, that’s fine too.”


He’s got one hand on my chest and the other inside me. My Tango is wedged against my clit, thrumming helpfully, but I’m just not quite getting there.

I see a look come over his face that I can’t decipher, and then he says, “I don’t think this is strong enough. Do you wanna switch to the Hitachi?”

My appreciation for this man, in this moment, is grander than I can translate into words. My heart melts, and so does my vagina. Far from being scared or put off by vibrators, he’s getting annoyed with the one in my hand for being too small, not strong enough, not giving me enough pleasure. He wants more for me, because my enjoyment is paramount to him. And not in some selfless, detached way: me getting off is a direct turn-on for him. And I know that’s why he shuts off my Tango, retrieves my Magic Wand from the bedside table, and places it in my hands.

A few diligent minutes later, I come so hard that I’m babbling, sweating, lost in rumbly reverie. I’m vaguely aware that he takes the vibe from me once I’m totally done coming, and I hear him set it on the table before climbing back into bed with me.

Maybe it’s the orgasmic neurotransmitters talking, but I’ve rarely felt so cared for, respected, safe, and seen during sex as I do now. He knew what I needed and delivered it not with complaints but with extreme enthusiasm. It wasn’t even a big deal to him. He wanted me to come, so, duh, he made sure there was a suitable vibrator in my hands. It was the obvious thing to do, and he did it because he cares about me.

I drift off to sleep in his arms. His hands still smell like me.

Monthly Faves: Show-Offs, Blowjobs, Butt Stuff & Balconies

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February was a super tough month for me emotionally, but in between cry-a-thons and anxiety attacks, I also managed to have plenty of good sex. Here’s a breakdown of the highlights…

 

Sex toys

• I have said this to you before… like, many, many times… but I really enjoyed the Eleven this month. It helps that I used it in a porn shoot (more on that in a second), but holy shit, it’s just a classic as far as I’m concerned. Sometimes I’m struggling to reach orgasm and I break out the Eleven as a last resort, and it always, always does the trick, somehow.

• To flagrantly repeat another toy that’s gotten its fair share of mentions in my monthly faves: the Magic Wand Rechargeable really earned its keep this month. I used it in the aforementioned porn shoot, as well as during my first anal sex experience and many solo sexytimes. It’s nice to have a vibe that works so reliably well that I don’t even have to think about it.

• When Bex visited early in the month, we took a trip to Come As You Are and I became fixated on the limited-edition pink version of Aslan Leather’s Jaguar harness. It’s $130, I already owned a Jaguar harness in black, I’m trying to save money for an upcoming trip, and I don’t even have an opportunity on my horizon to use a harness – but nonetheless, I wanted one, because it’s femmey and perfect. So I posted in a local kinky trading group to ask if anyone wanted to buy me a pink Jag in exchange for my black one plus some other toys I’d throw in, and a lovely lady took me up on my offer. I’m soooo happy I own it. It looks gorgeous on me and I’m going to make someone’s fucked-by-a-femme fantasy come true someday.

 

Fantasy fodder

• If you follow me on Twitter, you may have noticed it’s been a bit of a blowjobby month for me. My ideal blowjob recipient was in town so I had some mouth cravings to contend with. One of my favorite encounters in February was an impromptu blowjob date, which resulted when I messaged dude to offer him BJ carte blanche. I got to suck off one of my fave dicks in the known universe in a dimly lit room while we listened to R&B slowjams. Twice: once before dinner/drinks and once after. It was pretty much the best. And I continued to think about it a lot through the month, because unf, yes, all the good dicks in my mouth, please.

• My friends, you have not lived until a hot androgyne has rammed the shit out of you with an Eleven at a sex club in front of an audience as part of a live porn shoot. I thought I’d be too nervous to have a real orgasm, and was entirely prepared to fake one (which I know is bad, but it was a performance!) – but then my babely scene partner leaned close to my ear and whispered, “Does it turn you on that all these people are watching you?” That, combined with the well-wielded Eleven and the Hitachi I was pressing to my clit, triggered a very-real orgasm almost instantly. Welp. I didn’t think I was an exhibitionist, but it seems my fantasy landscape has been forever revolutionized by this incident…

• Ugh, there is something so hot to me about the process of teaching someone how to get you off. And especially that moment where they start to get it and do it how you want it without being told. I got to be on both sides of that this month, with regards to spanking, fingering, and blowjobs, and maaaan I was into it. Good sexual communication forever!

 

Sexcetera

• My main sexual adventure this month was losing my anal virginity. It was awesome. I want to do more butt stuff real soon. (I probably won’t get to, though, because it’s something I’d only want to explore with a trusted partner, and I don’t really have access to any of those at the moment. Booooo!)

• The award for weirdest sexual adventure of the month goes to the time I got kissed, fingered and felt up on an Airbnb balcony while slightly stoned, as snow came down around us. Marijuana often impedes my ability to tell whether the situation I’m in is strange or not, because everything feels strange when I’m high. But yeah, even looking back, it was a surreal experience. I don’t think I will ever forget the feeling of his hands sliding up under my bulky winter coat as he backed me up against that cold glass railing. Swoon.

• My friend is developing a party game called Don’t You Dare and I got to play it a few times this month. It’s really fun! I have some feelz about the ways in which games like Truth or Dare can be immensely helpful and world-widening for anxious folks like me… Maybe I’ll blog about that one of these days. (If you wanna help fund the game so it can liven up your parties someday, you can do so at its GoFundMe page!)

 

Femme stuff

• It was a big lingerie month for me. I am expanding my “porndrobe,” as it were. Some of my fave new sexy acquisitions are a navy and teal lace set by QT Intimates and a pink floral lace set by American Apparel. Now I wanna get more boy briefs and thigh-high socks, but what else is new?

• While searching Redbubble for “heart-eyes emoji” – as you do – I found this zip-up pouch. I had been in the market for a case in which to carry safer sex supplies (condoms, lube sample packs, gloves, dental dams, maybe a small vibrator), and this fit the bill, so I bought it. It’s actually a little bigger than I would prefer for everyday sex-supply totin’, but when I packed a huge bag for my hotel-sex date, it fit a noble quantity of latex barriers and butt plugs. Hooray!

• I bought a black and white skull-print scarf for something like $4 at a vintage shop and it is the ideal thing for tying around my hair when it’s in pincurls. Such glamour!

 

What were your fave sexy things this month, darlings?

12 Days of Girly Juice: 9 Best New Sex Toys

Yes, it’s that time, folks… Time to reflect back on 2015 and choose the toys that most tickled my fancy and improved my life. If you’ve been following along closely, you can probably guess most of these in advance. Oh wellz – here they are!

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9. The Womanizer has a terrible name, costs a prohibitive amount of money, and is 100% the ugliest sex toy I’ve ever seen. But (she admitted with a sigh of resignation), it also produces a sensation that is certifiably unique and quite often orgasmic. So, while it needs a massive branding overhaul, it still snuck into this list because when I want it, I need it. (Available at PinkCherry US, PinkCherry Canada, SheVibe, and Sex Toys Canada.)

8. Is it cheating if I put a toy on this list that I’ve only used one time? My one-of-a-kind, handmade Seaside Steamroller is too humongous for my vagina on all but the limberest of days, but it’s so beautiful that it works well as a display piece nonetheless.

7. I’ve wanted a Liberator Throe since this blog first launched; I’m so glad I finally got one. It keeps me from soaking through to my mattress on the rare occasions that I squirt, and it’s also surprisingly classy and discreet-looking when draped across my bed. Just as long as nobody sits on it and notices the crinkly texture, that is. (Available at SheVibe.)

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6. The Tantus Uncut #1 was my favorite realistic dildo of 2015. Pleasantly girthy, adorably realistic, and comfortably squishy – Tantus totally hit the mark with this one. As a sex toy reviewer, sometimes I get blasé about cocks, but this one was worth getting excited over. (Available at Tantus, PinkCherry US, PinkCherry Canada, SheVibe, Peepshow Toys and Sex Toys Canada.)

5. The Fucking Sculptures Double Trouble is incredible. My A-spot and G-spot are obsessed. Designed in a collaboration between porn maven Courtney Trouble and artisanal glass dildo geniuses Fucking Sculptures, it truly is “where art meets sex, then fucks itself.”

4. “Don’t call it a comeback…” Everyone’s favorite wand vibrator, ye olde Hitachi, got revamped and relaunched this year as the Magic Wand Rechargeable. It’s one of the most reliable vibrators I’ve ever owned. Maybe that sounds boring, but it’s not. It gets me off, easily, quickly, consistently, and often through my pajama pants. And that’s quite a feat. (Available at PinkCherry US, PinkCherry Canada, SheVibe, Peepshow Toys and Sex Toys Canada.)

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3. My G-spot kinda spasms in delight at the very thought of the NobEssence Seduction. It hits my spot so perfectly, so completely, so intensely that I often come in a couple minutes or less. It’s also freaking gorgeous and feels like a luxury item. Mmm, NobEssence. (Available at SheVibe.)

2. My acquisition of the Njoy Eleven was like a romance in a teen movie. People told me to stay away. I tried to resist, but then I gave in. Then I fell deeply, swiftly in love. And it was a love like no other. How can this toy hit my G-spot and A-spot simultaneously?! How can it leave me feeling as sated and breathless as if I’d just been fucked by a 6’2″ muscly dom dude in a leather jacket?! How can an object so perfect possibly exist in the real world?! (Available at PinkCherry Canada, SheVibe, Peepshow Toys and Sex Toys Canada.)

1. Bury me with my Fucking Sculptures G-Spoon in my vagina. If I’ve gotta die, I might as well get stellar A-spot stimulation from here to eternity. Seriously, this toy hits my deep spot better than any other I’ve ever owned, and it does it all while being stunningly beautiful. I will never stop fawning over the G-Spoon. It is my love, my everything, my addiction, my obsession. Blah, blah, blah, just buy one already! (Available at SheVibe.)

 

As you can see, it’s been a pretty good year for sex toys! What were some of your favorites in 2015?