Nightstand Necessities: Chuck Bass


Chuck Bass, of the long-gone masterful TV drama Gossip Girl, is an ethical mess of a character. He’s a rapist, for one thing, and arguably emotionally abusive. He’s a cutthroat businessman who sometimes makes cruel decisions to keep his bottom line afloat, he’s rude to his parents and step-parents, and he usually doesn’t even treat his closest friends with consideration or love.

None of this is excusable. But sexual fantasy exists beyond the plane of ethics. So, admittedly, Chuck Bass is one of my favorite fictional characters to fantasize about, read fanfic about, and make sexual speculations about. Here are some of my headcanons for what’s lurking in Chuck’s sex toy collection…


90bacba99cc7382090344fd25458c19bLike Christian Grey, Chuck Bass has a “playroom,” though he would never be so churlish as to call it that: it’s his boudoir. It’s kitted out with a Liberator Esse chaise, which he uses in a wide variety of imaginative ways. However, despite his Grey-esque proclivities, he thinks Fifty Shades of Grey is pathetic trash, an opiate of the suburban kink-curious masses. The day he catches you reading it is the day you discover what it feels like to get repeatedly and aggressively spanked with a trade paperback.

He keeps an Njoy Eleven displayed elegantly on a sideboard in his bedroom, atop a charcoal-grey velvet Throe. When you’ve been very, very good, he has you fetch both for him, and he makes you squirt with deft, almost businesslike precision. Afterwards, he leaves both items outside his bedroom door for the maid to wash. She does this quickly and without asking questions.


6fb3e739d60d97cedb668f5e9cb52b3dHe’s obsessed with gold-plated bedroom accoutrements, because he’s always got scads of cash burning a hole in his silk-lined pockets. He keeps a gold Eroscillator near the bed for use on beautiful visitors. Occasionally he mentions an interest in forced orgasm play – sometimes it’s a threat, sometimes a promise. One day he actually follows through, blindfolding you, then tying you to a rococo chair and the Eroscillator to you with black silk rope. He turns it to the top setting and sits back in his leather recliner with his fingers steepled, watching with quiet mirth as you squirm and scream.

He owns a gold-plated Lelo Earl prostate massager (he would never be so crass as to call it a “butt plug”). It was a celebratory gift he bought for himself when an important merger went through. You’ve come to know that when he wears the accompanying gold cufflinks out to dinner with you, it means he’s feeling libidinous. But he never lets you fuck him. You never dare to ask.

Nightstand Necessities: Rosa Diaz

BROOKLYN NINE-NINE -- "Operation Broken Feather" Episode 116 -- Pictured: Stephanie Beatriz as Rosa Diaz -- (Photo by: Eddy Chen/NBC/NBCU Photo Bank via Getty Images)
BROOKLYN NINE-NINE — “Operation Broken Feather” Episode 116 — Pictured: Stephanie Beatriz as Rosa Diaz — (Photo by: Eddy Chen/NBC/NBCU Photo Bank via Getty Images)

Y’all know how much I love Brooklyn Nine-Nine, FOX’s goofy, racially diverse, and arguably quite feminist cop comedy. I unreservedly adore every single character on this damn show, but I must admit I have a favorite: Rosa Diaz. She’s a mystery, inside an enigma, wrapped in black leather.


There are times when I doubt my sexual identity. I date and fuck men so predominantly that sometimes I wonder if my queer days are behind me. But then I watch Stephanie Beatriz dominate the screen as Rosa Diaz, and I think: Nope. Definitely still queer.

Nightstand Necessities is a new feature I’m launching here at Girly Juice, all about what I imagine is hiding in my favorite fictional characters’ bedside tables (or purses or pockets or sex toy chests, as the case may be). I could think of no better way to kick off this series than by writing about Rosa. My headcanons for her are plentiful and searing hot. Let’s get into it…


Rosa definitely straps on. (A fanfic I wrote says so, so it must be true.) Her whole aesthetic is based around black leather, and of course that’s true of her boudoir accoutrements as well. She rocks a black Aslan Leather Jaguar harness, worn in to buttery perfection. You’ve come to associate the sound of metal buckles sliding against leather straps with the imminent hope of getting fucked, and the smell of leather reminds you of being face-down and throat-deep on her silicone cock. Naturally, this Pavlovian conditioning enables her to turn you on in public any time she wants, by getting close to you in one of her many leather jackets, zipping it tight, idly fondling the chrome hardware. She knows exactly what she’s doing, but when you call her out on it, she just sneers, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Her sharp-tongued bossiness extends to the bedroom. She calls you her dirty slut, her fucktoy, hers. She spanks you with her bare hands, leaving stingy welts from the wallops. She thinks impact implements are for wimps who don’t know how to hit – but she’ll occasionally whip out her hardcover copy of Howl and leave book-shaped bruises on your ass. You know she’s feeling especially mean when she slips her leather vampire gloves on and says, “Bend over. Now.” If you get too bratty, she puts a black glass ballgag in your mouth until she’s done with you – but she always checks in, softly muttering “Is that okay?” and waiting for your nod before she pushes you back down onto the bed.


She bought you a Crave leather cuff bracelet and likes for you to always wear it when you’re going to be seeing her. (She’d like for you to wear it all the time – as a symbol of her owning you – but she hasn’t quite felt brave enough to have that conversation with you yet. One of her core beliefs is that emotions are sappy and dumb, so she’s not sure how to parse the imperious affection she feels for you.) The bracelet can be converted into bondage cuffs at a moment’s notice. She’s bought you beautiful jewelry, books, and other treasures, but the leather cuff is your favorite present she’s given you – because you know what it means, even if she doesn’t feel ready to tell you yet.

BROOKLYN NINE-NINE: Stephanie Beatriz. ©2014 Fox Broadcasting Co. CR: Scott Schafer/FOX
BROOKLYN NINE-NINE: Stephanie Beatriz. ©2014 Fox Broadcasting Co. CR: Scott Schafer/FOX

In bed, she’s normally stone, preferring to direct her energies onto your body rather than lie back and receive. But on the rare nights when she’s achy and exhausted from a long day at the precinct, she lets you use her favorite toys on her. You smear Sliquid Silver lube all over her red Fucking Sculptures Corkscrew dildo and slowly slide it into her, so careful and kind. She holds her black Doxy Die Cast to her clit with one hand, and with the other, strokes your hair and arms and face with a tenderness you rarely see in her. She looks so beautiful with her black curls fanned out against the pillow. “Faster,” she barks. “Harder.” You do your best to angle the Corkscrew against her G-spot, and she grunts the way she does when she’s tackling a perp in an alley. If you fuck her just right, hard and quick for as long as she needs, she comes with a resonant roar and squirts triumphantly on your hands, your arms, your face.

She watches as you slip the dildo out of her and into your mouth. You so rarely get to taste her; it’s a treat. The warmth in her face is rare, too, you reflect as she pets your hair and purrs, “You were so good for me, baby.”