Author: Kate Sloan

Review: VixSkin Bandit + Fleshlight Go Torque Ice

Kate Sloan

As I’ve said here many times before, sex toys are not – and are not meant to be – replacements for human partners. In fact, they can enhance sex with a partner, sometimes by a lot.

I have two toys to review today which perfectly illustrate that principle. They’re both ostensibly meant to replicate human genitals in some sense, and yet – if you so desire – they can make you feel closer to your partner, rather than farther from them. Let’s talk about fake dicks and fake vaginas!

The VixSkin Bandit is a formidable silicone cock by Vixen Creations, still one of the biggest names in the realistic-dildo game. It’s perhaps best known as a favorite dildo of Erika Moen’s. Prior to Just Mindful sending me the Bandit to try, it had been over five years since I last acquired a new VixSkin toy. Between the G-spotty Mustang and its thicker cousin the Maverick, I just didn’t feel I needed another big, squishy dick in my life… but then, the more that I looked at the Bandit online, the more I thought, Maybe I do need one after all.

With its 7″ of insertable length and 1.75″ diameter, this dildo is – to quote Brendan Fraser in Bedazzled – “big… not, like, practical-joke big, but, you know.” It’s what the McElroy brothers might call a “beefy boy.” It fills me up without testing my vag’s limits, and that’s a surprisingly hard balance to strike.

It’s long enough to hit my A-spot – joy of joys! Vixen’s dual-density silicone formulation is softer than I generally prefer in an A-spot toy, so the blended orgasms it produces aren’t as intense as they might be if something firmer was rubbing against that spot, but that’s a minor quibble.

Here’s what I mean, though, when I say that this dildo can enhance partnered sex. As I’ve mentioned before, penis-in-vagina sex can give me a lot of anxieties, ranging from “Am I taking too long to come?” to “Is he getting tired?” to “Does my face look weird?” But to my chagrin, PIV still features prominently in my fantasy life. There are few things hotter to me than getting fucked deeply and thoroughly – and few things that make me come as hard. So you see my predic(k)ament. However, if and when I have a partner who’s cool with using a realistic dildo on me, I can reap many of the benefits of PIV, without nearly as many weird fears chipping away at my arousal. This is especially true if – as with my current partner – the person wielding the dildo is open to talking about it as if it were their actual cock. It’s a known fact that my boyfriend talking dirty about fucking me can get me off, no problem, and that becomes even more true when he’s slamming a silicone dick into my A-spot just right, again and again.

He enjoys fucking me with the Bandit, too, for similar reasons. Apparently when you use a dildo on someone that roughly matches your skin tone and, ideally, your cock’s dimensions, it’s easy to imagine that it is your cock. Many men have anxieties about not lasting “long enough” or staying “hard enough,” and I wish more of them would believe me when I tell them using dildos is a great way to deal with this. You can give someone exquisite pleasure with a toy – and you can also fuck them with parts of your actual body, before or after using the toy or even while you’re using it. (DP, anyone?) Not to mention, sex’s psychological and visual aspects are a big deal for many people, and you can derive a lot of those joys just as much from a dildo as you can from your dick.

Along similar lines… the Fleshlight Go Torque Ice is a masturbator that plays into exhibitionistic/voyeuristic desires and can make a solo act into a spectator activity. I requested it for my boyfriend because, as the “Ice” in its name denotes, it’s see-through. I’ve watched many amateur porn scenes where men jerked off into one of these things, and it always turns me on, for very simplistic reasons: I like dicks, and I like watching dicks experience pleasure and orgasm.

Granted, watching a cock through this Fleshlight isn’t like watching it through a plate glass window; it’s textured, so it visually distorts and obscures the dick to some degree. But you still get a better view than you would get if its user were using an opaque masturbator or even just their hand.

My partner reports that this toy fits his bigger-than-average cock well without feeling too tight (the same can’t be said for the Tenga 3D Spiral he previously bought and had to retire after several futile attempts to make it work). This is true in spite of the fact that the “Go” size is 7″, compared to the 9″ length of a standard Fleshlight. He likes the internal texture and says it works well for stroking, twisting, or both at once.

This toy has all the usual downsides reported by Fleshlight users, most annoyingly the need to dissemble and clean it pretty much immediately after use. You must always do this, and let it air-dry before reassembling it, unless you have a kink for getting mold on your dick. (Personally, I’d rather blow a fun guy than fungi.) My partner also notes that the plastic casing feels cheap, the “SuperSkin” material (thermoplastic elastomer) smells slightly weird, and air escaping from the toy creates an off-putting wheezing noise during use that can be distracting.

But overall, it’s a fave. He comes reliably hard using it, and says he reaches for it when he wants an orgasm that feels more like a mouth or a vag than his own lubed-up hand can approximate. That’s exactly what a masturbator aspires to achieve. Plus, in this case, letting me watch cum shoot out of my partner’s dick.

 

This post was sponsored, and Just Mindful sent me these products for my honest and unbiased reviews. Check out their masturbator collection and their realistic dildo collection for more like these! As always, all writing and opinions are my own (and, in this case, my boyfriend’s).

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.

Obsessed & Distressed: Reflections on Rabid Love

Kate Sloan

I learned what love felt like from someone I couldn’t bring myself to love.

She was a close friend in high school whose harmless puppy-love toward me darkened into something deeper over our sophomore year. Try as I might, and try though I did, I couldn’t conjure the caliber of crush in return that she shone on me like fervent floodlights. Love can’t be forced, and she knew that, but I’m sure it made her sad anyway. I’m sure it also made her sad that we had a sexual relationship for over a year that remained only one-sidedly romantic. Look, tenth-graders don’t always make the most rational decisions.

I’ve spent ten years processing that relationship, and I guess she probably has too. We’ve made amends for the ways we fucked up, each trying to squeeze the other into an ill-fitting box. But what’s stuck with me most from that relationship was how obsessed with me she was.

(A note worth noting: this post will throw around the words “obsessed” and “obsessive” in their colloquial senses, and not the sense used in mental health diagnostics – although I and at least some of the people I’m describing have mental illnesses that feature some degree of invasive thought-loops one could consider obsessions.)

My tenth-grade paramour wrote me long emails and romantic poems. She kept up with my foibles on Facebook and Twitter, both relatively new and uncommonly-adopted technologies at that time. She mined me for minute trivia, plumbing my lore like I was my own cinematic universe. After a while, she knew everything from my favorite flavors of ice cream to my top 5 favorite Regina Spektor songs to my darkest fears. When our English teacher gave our class carte blanche to do a deep-dive on a topic of our choosing for our final project, she did her project on… me. Those documents are still tucked away in my Google Drive somewhere, curious little remnants of a love that once was.

It is, of course, flattering to be someone’s top priority and main focus – assuming this attention doesn’t frighten you or make you uncomfortable. But I think the reason her love comforted me was that it felt familiar. My crushes had always taken on a similarly obsessive tone: when I pined over pseudo-celebrities of the local comedy or theatre scene, I Googled them late into the night, memorized their answers to interview questions, gave them more real estate in my brain than perhaps they deserved. So when I felt that similarly laser-focused love being aimed at me, I recognized it for the love that it was. Though she was the first person ever to fall in love with me, it wasn’t hard for me to believe or accept; I knew what it was because it looked how I expected it to look. It looked like how I would love someone, if I ever did.

Almost a decade later, the shadow of that old love filtered through my consciousness again – because I fell in love with someone who wasn’t obsessed with me. And it hurt.

I wonder, in retrospect, if I was drawn to him because he was everything I’ve never been able to be: chill, cool, aloof. Aside from initiating our relationship by asking me out on Twitter, his expressions of enthusiasm toward me were scant. Maybe that just made me want him more. (Is this a lesson we all have to learn at some point? That the chase is fun but also exhausting? I hope I’m done learning that one.)

I felt – to partly dilute a word that maybe I shouldn’t be diluting – gaslighted. He told me over and over again that he liked me, loved me, wanted to be with me, but his behavior was comparatively devoid of evidence he wanted me around. He’d ignore my texts for hours at a time, neglect to keep his promises, back out of plans at the last minute, and pull away coldly when I wanted closeness and warmth. I don’t know that he was doing this intentionally, as the “gaslighting” label would suggest – but the net effect was, regardless, a sense of emotional whiplash. I kept reminding myself to listen to his words, because they no doubt were truer than my anxiety-warped perception of his actions – but actions, as you well know, tend to speak louder. His were drowning out his words.

I brought this to his attention only once, and came to regret it. We were looping the same argument we’d been having for basically our entire relationship: I resented that he wouldn’t give me the assurances I felt I needed, and he resented that I needed them. Grasping at straws, I tried to explain: “It’s hard for me to recognize love as love when the person isn’t kind of obsessed with me, because when I like someone, I want to know everything about them, I want to see them as much as possible, and I think about them almost all the time.”

Some part of me hoped he would counter with what I wanted to hear: that he did think about me constantly, that he was obsessed with me; how could I not have noticed? Instead, he replied, “I don’t really get obsessed with people. I never have. That’s just not how I operate.”

Wise and level-headed people in my life, like my therapist and my best friend, would probably tell me to just accept a lower level of attention and devotion from partners. Just because someone doesn’t pine over you nonstop, they might tell me, doesn’t mean they’re blasé about you. If you broaden your view of what love can look like, you expand your ability to be loved, to feel loved.

That’s true, I guess. But I wanted love I didn’t have to do cognitive backflips to understand. I wanted love that was more joy, less compromise. I wanted love that mirrored my own, that matched me in my wild zeal. So when that boy broke up with me, although I was crushed, part of me was relieved. It felt more peaceful, more pleasant, to know for sure that no one loved me romantically, than to beg for scraps of affection that never quite felt like enough.

When I met my now-boyfriend, then-Twitter-crush, one of the first things he told me about himself is that he’s obsessive. I thrilled at the possibility of familiarity.

It didn’t take long for me to discover how right he was, how core this quality is to who he is. Intrepid Googling and curious research have left him well-informed on a broad range of topics. He can tell you the top 5 best cocktail bars in any neighborhood in New York, off the top of his head. He geeks out about etymology, psychology, philosophy. Once, during a conversation over drinks about whether or not our D/s dynamic is technically 24/7, he said, “That reminds me of this quote from SM 101…” and pulled it up on his phone in seconds. I swooned.

As we got to know each other, he’d casually reference old videos of mine, tweets, blog posts. He got embarrassed each time I called him out on it, backpedaling and blushing audibly over the phone, but my screeches of “How do you know that?!” were never accusatory – only excited. For me, combing through a crush’s internet presence is par for the course; it had been years since anyone had made me feel spotlighted that way in return.

He commissioned me a custom perfume based on a list of preferences he cobbled together from research. He devoured my sex toy reviews so he’d know what I like to be fucked with, and worked his way through my podcast so he’d know how I like to be fucked. When he sends me flowers or brings me treats, his selections are educated guesses – or sometimes, exactly the right thing.

The more I think about it, the more I doubt that “obsessive” is the right word. The essence of romance, and indeed of love, is focusing on your paramour: giving them your attention, putting effort into them, demonstrating your enthusiasm for them over and over. That sharp passion is what was missing from so many of my past relationships, which is why it feels especially good in this latest one. I spent years making desperate excuses for aloof partners, twisting their apathy until it looked like love. I settled over and over for paltry affection that barely warmed my skin, let alone my insides. I gave up on thinking of myself as someone worthy of obsession, even as I continued to furtively memorize my crushes’ likes and dislikes by the dim glow of my laptop in the dead of night.

I’m so happy now to be loved in the way I’ve always craved, and so happy to have discovered that love doesn’t have to be a compromise at its core. Sometimes it can just be exactly what you want.

5 Underrated Measures of Compatibility

Kate Sloan

I’m not sure I really know anything about compatibility. I’ve only been in 2-3 relationships I would consider “long-term” in all my 27 years, so I’m maybe not the best person to advise you on what works. But I do know a lot about what doesn’t work, having lived through my fair share of disastrous relationships destined to fail. (Bleak? Yes. True? Also yes.)

You hear a lot in sex/dating media about well-known measures of compatibility: sharing similar interests, for example, or being able to make each other laugh. But here I present to you, for your consideration, 5 measures of compatibility that I think are under-discussed, rarely understood, and deceptively important…

Sexual desire style. Disregard this point if sex isn’t part of your relationship, but if it is: have you heard of responsive desire? Brought into popular consciousness through Emily Nagoski’s excellent book Come As You Are, responsive desire is a way of wanting sex that differs from our culture’s usual “lightning bolt to the genitals” understanding of how the sex drive works. “Instead of emerging in anticipation of sexual pleasure, like spontaneous desire,” Nagoski explains, “responsive desire emerges in response to sexual pleasure.” In other words, instead of wanting sex and then going to get it, folks whose desire is responsive often need to encounter sexual stimuli (dirty talk, porn, erotica, sexual touching, etc.) before they become aroused and start wanting sex.

Learning about this was revelatory for me, and many other folks who may have felt broken for seldom craving sex out of the blue. But here’s where compatibility comes in: I prefer to date and fuck folks whose desire style is closer to the “spontaneous” end of the spectrum, because when I date another responsive-desire person, sexual initiation can feel like the dreaded “Where should we go for dinner?” conversation: “Where do you want to go?” “Well, where do you want to go?” A person whose desire is spontaneous, to continue the metaphor, is likelier to say, “Here’s where I want to go. What say you?”

This is not to say you can’t date another responsive-desire person if that’s how you operate; it may just mean you both have to take a more proactive approach to purposely arousing each other (and yourselves) rather than waiting for someone else to bestow arousal upon you.

Decisiveness vs. indecision. Speaking of the “Where should we go for dinner?” conversation… I am a chronically indecisive person in many areas of life, partly owing to just lacking confidence in my own choices and tastes. It’s no secret that I’m submissive, so I like to be bossed around in bed, but I also find it affirming to be (consensually) bossed around by certain people outside of the bedroom. Weirdly, it’s a way they can show me they care.

My boyfriend, for example, is the type of person who loves making plans and being in charge of things. When he does a good job of this, he feels accomplished and proud. So he’s a good match for someone like me. When he plans a date night for us – makes reservations, gets us there on time, helps me choose what to order – I feel deeply loved and taken care of, while he enjoys the satisfaction of knowing he took care of me in that way.

Compatibility is about more than what you can do for each other; it’s also about what you enjoy doing for each other. If I was dating someone who was willing to make these types of plans but found it tiresome, each outing of this type would just drive us further apart and foster resentment – but because my partner enjoys making the exact kinds of decisions I don’t enjoy making, this interaction just brings us closer every time it happens.

Communication preferences. You’ve probably heard of the love languages. It’s an oversimplification of human psychology, perhaps, but it’s also a useful framework for understanding how to communicate with your partner.

I’ve dated people before whose love language was quality time, or acts of service, or gifts – and while all of those things are lovely, my most significant love languages are words and touch, so if I’m not getting those things in abundance, I don’t feel fully loved. It is possible to adjust your communication style to better suit a partner who differs from you in this way, but not everyone is willing or able to put in the psychological and logistical work required to make that shift.

Along similar lines, I’ve dated people before who didn’t like to text a lot when we were apart, or who answered my carefully-crafted messages with monosyllabic apathy, and that doesn’t work for me either. Communication is a huge part of what allows relationships to function smoothly and healthily, so if you and your partner have incompatible communication styles or preferences, it could become a major sticking point if it hasn’t already.

Coping strategies. What do you do when you’re stressed, sick, or depressed? How do you communicate at those times? What do you tend to want, need, and crave at those times – and what do you absolutely not want? Would your ideal partner give you support, or space? Would they bring you soup and sympathy, or would they back off and let you do your thing in peace?

While it’s useful to ponder these questions before they become relevant in a new relationship, often you won’t know quite how your stressful periods interact with your partners’ until you actually live through one together. It can be helpful to specifically ask for what you want – “Can you come over and cuddle me in silence for a while?” or “Sorry, I just need a few days to sort this out, but can we get dinner on Friday?” – but, depending on your partner’s own stress levels at that time, they may or may not be willing or able to give you what you’re asking for.

I learned this lesson the hard way when I had a boyfriend who suffered from intermittent depression, like me, but who needed altogether different things than I did when he was depressed. At those times, he craved emotional distance, lots of time alone to work through his feelings in private. He didn’t want kisses, or cuddles, or sex. But when I’m depressed, I usually want to be with the person/people I love, and get as close as possible, through both physically and non-physically intimate activities. Obviously, when we were both going through a tough time, we found each other pretty frustrating! Complementary needs in this regard are something I look out for now when assessing my potential compatibility with someone, because they can really make or break a relationship.

Relaxation activities. They say you don’t truly know whether you’re compatible with a partner until the two of you travel together. I think this is a good piece of wisdom, not only because travel can be stressful (see above) but also because vacationing together lets you see how your partner prefers to relax – which may be altogether different from how you prefer to do those things.

If you like to unwind by reading a book on the beach, but your partner wants to do the entire museum circuit, you may not be the best match – unless you’re able to happily go your separate ways and reconvene later on. This principle also applies to relaxation in your day-to-day, not just on vacation. If you need quiet time to recharge after a long day, but your partner needs to verbally unpack everything that happened to them and/or dance the day’s stress out at a club, you may not be the best fit – unless you can find ways to each get what you need, separately or together, without stepping on each other’s toes too much.

I often fondly reminisce on a Montreal trip I took with an adventurous, excitable friend. I expected her to drag me to historic sites and famous bagel shops – and she did, some of the time – but one afternoon, I told her I needed to recharge my introvert batteries and she suggested we go to a café with our books and journals and just sit in silence for a few hours, sipping coffee and chilling out. It was one of the most blissful experiences I’ve ever had on a vacation, and all because we were able to find common ground in how we chose to relax.

Which measures of compatibility do you consider important in a partner or friend?

Freelance Friday: Structure & Secret Readers

Kate Sloan

Freelance Friday is my recurring feature where I answer your questions about the odd blend of blogging, journalism, and copywriting that is my career. You can read more writing-related content in my Blogging & Writing section!

Q. How do you structure your day so that you stay productive? I feel like if I worked from home, I would sleep until noon, procrastinate on my work constantly, and take terrible care of myself.

A. This is usually one of the first things people ask me about when they find out I work from home. Most people have some experience with aimless, unscheduled days – whether during a bout of unemployment, a gap year, or just a holiday – so they know it can be a mind-numbing and even despairing reality. So, they wonder, how do I, and others in my position, manage to do it every day?

It’s a fair question. When I first eased into the telecommuting lifestyle, I did exactly the type of shit you’re describing here. I slept too late, stayed up too late, skipped meals or overate, left work til the last minute or did too much all at once. I was like a teenager whose parents have gone away for a week in Bermuda. It was, shall we say, not ideal.

What I’ve found helpful isn’t glamorous or sexy: it’s just rituals and routines. I’m a Taurus through and through, so it takes me a while to warm up to changes in my daily habits, but once I do, they tend to stick. While I love the freedom and flexibility of the freelance life, I also recognize that I need to impose some rules on myself if I’m going to get anything done.

My dayjob, blessedly, requires me to get up around 9AM every weekday. I am a sleepy person and I have seasonal depression; if I didn’t have a reason to get up in the morning, I likely wouldn’t until late in the afternoon – so thanks, dayjob! I usually do an hour or two of that work before getting dressed and heading out to a nearby café to work on blog stuff, podcast stuff, journalism stuff, or more dayjob stuff – whatever needs doing that day.

Cafés are a crucial part of my workflow, and I’m certainly not the first freelancer to feel that way. Whether it’s the caffeine, the noise level, or just the impetus to put pants on and join the real world, there is something about cafés that helps me power through work that might’ve felt impossible if I was sitting at home in my pajamas.

Over the past year or so, I’ve become more methodical about taking a proper lunch break, rather than just working through it like a fiend. I’ll buy or make something filling, and settle in with a book/podcast/TV show/YouTube video while I eat. I found I was more prone to burnout back when I would half-work through my lunch, so now I force myself to get out of “work mode” for a while when mid-day hits.

My major not-so-secret secret weapon for productivity is a to-do list. I make one in my Notes app every day, and cross things off as they get done. My partner has access to the list, and his supervision makes this tool even more potent. It’s simple as hell, but keeping a to-do list religiously has boosted my productivity a lot.

Lastly, while it’s important to build structures that help me do my best work, it’s also important to build structures that let me relax at the end of the day. Freelancers and other self-employed types – especially those prone to hypomania! – are notorious for never really “clocking out,” and as necessary as that sometimes seems, it’s not healthy. When I’m done my work for the day, I close all my work-related tabs and apps, shut my laptop, and physically walk away from it. Often I’ll unwind by smoking some weed, reading a book, listening to a funny podcast, and/or writing in my journal. Then I’ll typically eat a late dinner and call my partner around 10–10:30PM. Our end-of-day phone conversations provide a grounding conclusion to my day, keeping me focused on something that isn’t my inbox or my Twitter timeline, which always feels so needed after a full day of work.

Q. Has anyone you weren’t “out” to as a sex writer ever found your blog and confronted you? How did you handle that?

A. While I wasn’t always “out” as a sex writer, I’ve never really been embarrassed when someone read my writing who “wasn’t supposed to.” I always figure that if they’re offended by it, that’s on them, not me.

Of course, that isn’t true in every case. If I was writing cruelly or nonconsensually about someone, it would be reasonable for them to get upset about that. I’ve definitely done this in the past, but I’ve learned from my mistakes. Nowadays, usually the only people I roast on my blog without their express knowledge are people who’ve deeply hurt me – people who genuinely fucked up in some way. Anne Lamott says, “You own everything that happened to you… If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better,” and I believe that, to some extent. Someone who dumps me in a coldhearted way, or ghosts me, or leaks nudes of people I love, knows they’re being a dick when they do that, so I have few qualms about lampooning these people on my site – which they probably don’t even read, anyway.

The caveat is that I’m never unnecessarily cruel and I never identify people who don’t want to be identified. I wouldn’t write mean shit about a Tinder hookup’s dick size for no reason; I wouldn’t publicize an ex’s name, or describe their appearance in overly specific detail; I wouldn’t spill other people’s secrets or their deepest shames. It’s just not nice. I’m not saying I was always perfect on this front, but these are the standards I hold myself to now.

That said – yes, there have been times when I’ve discovered someone was reading my blog who I wish wouldn’t. For example: a dude who had, months earlier, lied and told me he was poly when he was actually monogamous, thereby making me unknowingly complicit in him cheating on his girlfriend. Or an ex who’d broken up with me in an especially explosive and scary way. Or a guy I’d stopped talking to after he crossed numerous boundaries. While I don’t necessarily begrudge these people reading my site, it is weird when they tell me they read it, especially if they do so as part of a half-assed apology or an unwarranted desire to “reconnect.” It feels like a boundary violation. If you are reading this post knowing full well that I probably wouldn’t want you to be here… perhaps think a little about why you’re doing that, what you’re getting out of it, and how it might make me feel if I knew.

I’ve been much better about getting partners’ consent to write about them and running relevant details by them before publishing, ever since a boyfriend told me, during a breakup, that I’d made him feel used for material. Those consent practices are important, but it’s also important for me to be able to write about shitty behavior when people are shitty to me. It grinds my gears when a partner or a hookup does something reprehensible and then says, “Don’t write about that on your blog” – because the implication is that they want to appear good and sweet to my readers, without actually being good and sweet to me. Fuck that. If they wanted me to write warmly about them, they indeed should have behaved better.

If you have questions for this series, you can leave them in a comment below, or email them to me!