Why You Should Never Follow the Person You’re Dating on Twitter

I signed up for Twitter when I was 15 years old. That means I’ve been on it for more than one-third of my entire life. (Oh god. What a nerd.)

When I first became involved in social media, it wasn’t nearly as widespread as it is now, and I encountered a lot of pushback. Friends and classmates often told me I put “too much” of myself online, and that “some things should be kept private.” I wasn’t using my social media much differently from how most people use it today, but because it was such a new phenomenon, my passionate early adoption of it looked weird to onlookers.

That was a time when so few people had social media that I could freely talk about my crushes and beaux on Twitter, Tumblr, and so on, without worrying that they would see it. The internet was still this weird secondary dimension where I mostly communed with other nerds, not “real people” from my “real life.” So I ranted and raved all over the place about people I was sexually or romantically involved with. It was okay; they’d never read it.

Now, though, pretty much everyone I interact with “IRL” has a strong social media presence; that’s just how our world works these days. So I have to be more careful about what I say online – we all do.

I’ve recently arrived at the belief that you shouldn’t follow people you’re dating on Twitter. The reasons for this are too nuanced to be tweet-sized, so I’m blogging about it. I’d love to know if you agree or not…

 

Reason 1: Anxiety and obsessiveness.

This won’t apply to everyone, obviously, but for those of us with nervous hearts, following your beau on Twitter can render you totally bananas.

You’ll see them tweeting at other folks in a semi-flirty way and you’ll wonder what the hell it means. You’ll grow to hate the smiling faces in the profile pictures of the people your beau interacts with, even if those interactions are far more innocent and chaste than they appear.

If you text them and they take a little while to answer, but they tweet in the meantime, you’ll wonder why they have the time to tweet but not to respond to you. (Hint: someone not responding to your texts immediately doesn’t mean they hate you – although you might forget this in the heat of the moment.) You’ll comb their tweets for evidence that they’ve lied to you or made up a fake excuse as to why they couldn’t hang out.

You’ll obsessively check their tweets multiple times a day to see what they’re up to. Their digital presence will allow them to stay front-and-centre in your mind, so you feel psychologically glued to them all the time instead of getting the mental space you both need.

Some people are mentally healthy and well-adjusted enough that this isn’t a risk for them. But if you, like me, have a tendency toward the obsessive, it might be beneficial for you to keep your romantic prospects out of your digital sphere.

 

Reason 2: Mystery and freshness.

My ex and I were both extremely prolific tweeters, and toward the end of our relationship, it became a problem. Several times in any given conversation, one person would start to tell a story and the other would cut them off: “Yeah, I saw that on your Twitter already.”

Granted, we were at the stage in our relationship where the magic had worn off and we didn’t particularly care about impressing each other – so we weren’t always as polite about this as we could have been. But there is something to be said for the loss of mystery when you follow each other’s daily minutiae on Twitter.

When I spend time with someone I’m seeing, I want us both to be bursting with new information to share with each other. Codependency and boring relationships are bred when you do everything together and never go adventuring on your own, and that effect can be replicated if you’re constantly keeping tabs on each other via Twitter. Your separate existences should be discrete enough that you’re excited to come together and catch up.

Besides which: some people post the most boring, inane shit on Twitter even if they’re dynamic as hell in real life, and you don’t want their dull online persona to kill your attraction. Your love will probably seem foxier if you don’t know what they ate for lunch or how bored they were at work yesterday.

 

Reason 3: Space and privacy.

Some would say you forfeit your right to privacy when you post stuff online. “Don’t put stuff in public that you want to keep private!” they’d argue. And they’re not wrong.

But that’s also a bit like saying that the conversations you have with friends in public – at a coffee shop or restaurant, say – are fair game for public consumption just because they’re happening in a public space. There is such a thing as a private exchange within a public context; you are allowed to expect respect and discretion from the people who might be overhearing your dialogue, whether it happens in real life or on the internet.

Likewise, although your beau might post stuff online where anyone can theoretically read it, they might not want everyone to read it (including you). It doesn’t mean they don’t like you or don’t trust you; they might just need a place to work out their thoughts and feelings without worrying about how that stuff will be perceived.

We all need time and space away from our partners from time to time. When someone tells you they “need space,” probably you imagine they mean physical distance, but nowadays we all need some digital distance too. Our online social lives are largely interwoven with our “IRL” social lives, so our needs and wants in both areas are similar. If your partner is the type who fiercely needs their independence and solo space, you might be able to help give them that by unfollowing their Twitter stream.

 

Do you follow your partner(s)/date(s)/crush(es) on Twitter? How do you feel about it?

Yes Yes Yes And: Fail More, Fail Harder

Yes Yes Yes And is my ongoing feature on the parallels between improv and sex. Yes, I am a nerd. Enjoy.

 

When I’m in the mood to get reeeeal esoteric about comedy, I listen to the Backline podcast. And Rob Norman and Adam Cawley, ever men after my own heart, always serve up exactly the joke-laced philosophizin’ I’m craving.

One truth-bomb I’ve heard Rob drop in multiple episodes is that failure is good for your improv. The harder you fail, the more you get out of your comfort zone. The more you fail, the more you learn. Rob says, when he gets into a place of stasis with his improv, where he feels like he’s playing the same characters and relying on the same schtick all the time, the cure is failure. Doing something badly – whether on purpose or by accident – can be the shake-up you need to see your blind spots, fix your issues, and do better.

Well, guess what? That applies to sex too.

There’s this shitty cultural idea that sex should be seamless and wonderful from the get-go. You’re supposed to be able to read your partner’s mind and give them exactly what they want, because sex is “dirty” and talking about it is “unromantic” or “kills the moment.”

Fuck that, dude: communication is key. And sexual failure is also key. Because you could sit around all day talking about likes and dislikes, turn-ons and turn-offs, but there are some things you’ll just never learn until you get messy and try ’em.

My sexual “failures” are some of my funniest and most treasured sex memories. The times I choked on cock and had a mid-blowjob coughing fit… The time I tried to get bossy in bed and discovered I can’t even convincingly pretend to be a domme… The time I faked an orgasm when someone fingered me for the first time because I was too scared to give directions… It’s all taught me so much.

And even the less-than-funny failures were beneficial to my sex life in the long run. For every consent-disrespecting douchebag I’ve made out with, my resolve and self-respect have grown stronger. For every boundary I’ve loosened to impress someone cute, I’ve either expanded my limits or hardened them where I needed to. For every kink I’ve explored, I’ve deepened my knowledge of my own sexuality in one way or another.

You might recall that I recently had my first threesome, and while it was far from a failure, I learned soooo much from it about how I operate as a sexual person and what my patterns are. (More on that in another post, I promise.) I would’ve never stumbled on those realizations if I hadn’t tried something scarily new to me and kinda (arguably) fucked it up. At least, parts of it.

So, don’t be afraid to fail at sex sometimes. When you do something badly, you learn how to do it better. Or – at the very least – you have a good long laugh with your partner. Either way, you win.

What’s In My Bag: Fall 2015

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Do you ever look through the contents of your bag and just think, “This really sums up my entire personality/life”? I do that on the regular, but today was a particularly great example.

I recently bought this Zatchels shoulder bag, and while it doesn’t fit the zillions of items I would like it to, it can still hold a good amount of mostly-flat stuff. And it’s so damn cute that I don’t mind its low capacity too much.

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Today the bag contained (clockwise from top-centre):

  • My journal, without which I rarely leave the house. I always bring this with me when I go to work (for epic emotional unpacking on my break-time) or when I’m going to be sitting and waiting anywhere for a while (like on the streetcar or at the doctor’s office). Writing about my life helps me process its events, figure shit out and decide what I want to do next.
  • My iPad mini. This was one of those purchases that I thought I “didn’t really need,” but then I’ve ended up using it for soooo many different things. I often bring it with me when I interview folks for articles I’m writing, so as to record our conversations; I also listen to music on it all day at work, take notes in Evernote on it at school, watch movies on it when I’m bored, and so much more. It’s my constant companion and my surrogate brain!
  • My iPhone earbuds. Crucial. What would life be without music and podcasts?! I love that these earbuds have a little remote on them, so I don’t have to take my phone out of my pocket to pause the audio or adjust the volume. Brilliant.
  • My wallet, which is by Danier Leather. It’s so simple and classic and sexy. You’ve gotta carry a wallet so it might as well be one you like the look of!
  • Maybelline Creamy Matte lipstick in “Rich Ruby.” This isn’t even available in Canada yet so I had to order it online, but it was worth it. It is such a perfect red, and the formula really stays put on my lips without being too drying. Best!
  • My beloved We-Vibe Tango. Normally this would be by my bedside, but I packed it in here a few days ago because I thought I might be having sex that night and wanted to be prepared. The sex didn’t pan out after all, but it’s still nice to have a good vibrator on hand for all eventualities…
  • Lifestyles Tuxedo condoms. I find these hilarious because they’re black and supposedly for “formal occasions.” They also get pretty good reviews, sensation-wise, from both internet commentators and my ex-boyfriend.
  • Junior Mints. I practically fell asleep multiple times at my desk today while at work, and bought these to pep me up. They worked, but they also made my stomach hurt. Sad trombone.
  • Extra pen + pencil. A writer is always prepared!

What do you keep in your bag on the regular?

My First Threesome Was a Smash Success

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On Friday night I cracked open a fortune cookie and it told me my life is becoming more of an adventure… in bed. I didn’t give this prediction much thought, because, you know, it came from a fortune cookie.

But then, the next night, I had my first threesome, so maybe the cookie was onto something.

 

I have a beautiful, blonde, effervescent friend who I’ve known for almost 10 years. We met through Livejournal and bonded over a shared dorky enthusiasm for musical theatre. As it happened, we both ended up running in the same sex-positive feminist circles as we got older, so we’ve been reconnecting recently after a long period of mostly being casual-pals-from-afar.

She invited me over for what we thought was going to be a quiet night: dinner, conversation, and “Netflix and chill” in the literal sense. But then we went a little hard on the wine, some clothes came off, and we got into some slutty chats with her rowdy roommate… One thing led to another, and it was decided we should go out. My friend gave me a cute dress and jacket to wear, and we put on some sky-high heels and headed out to a loud underground bar.

She and I got to talking about a dapper dom guy we both know and have both banged, and we agreed (half-jokingly, except completely-seriously) that we should have a three-way with him someday. I am standing on the precipice of having a full-on Slut Phase and my blondie pal had agreed to be my mentor in this endeavor – my Slut Sherpa, or the Dumblewhore to my Ron Sleazy, if you will – and orchestrating a threesome seemed like a great way to kick that off.

When I get tipsy, I get flirty and text-happy, so of course we notified our mutual bang-buddy of our plan, not really expecting him to take us seriously. But, y’know, we’re foxy babes with feminine wiles, so he agreed pretty quick. “That’s a lot of babe for one dude,” he texted, to which I replied: “I think you can handle it.”

He met us at the bar and we cabbed back to his place. We talked for a long while, and did that tipsy thing where you all giggle over Facebook photos of your exes, and the boy let me borrow a pair of his socks because my feet were cold (quel gentleman). And then we migrated to the bed and cuddled a bunch. And boobs were (consensually) shoved into faces, and then she started giving him a blowjob while I kissed him… which I wish I’d been more alert/sober for, honestly, because holy shit, it was the logical next step in my blowjob porn obsession. Hnnnggg.

It’s often hard for me to remember the order of events in sex with just two people, because bodies blur together and pleasure makes brains into mush… so with three people, obviously this problem is exacerbated. Plus, when cute people are doing pleasurable things to me, my eyes tend to drift closed, making it hard to follow the action. But I do remember a cock in my hand, and mouths on my nipples, and a hand rubbing me through my panties, and fingers in my mouth, and a hand on my throat, and my tits being slapped, and and and… smiling-face-with-heart-shaped-eyes

Eventually my beautiful friend took off my panties and started going down on me. She had already displayed her blowjob prowess earlier in the night and now she was proving her cunnilingual skills too. I don’t know if you have ever had the experience of knowing someone platonically for a long-ass time and then having sex with them, but… wow. It is eye-opening and strange and fantastic.

If our threesome was a porn scene, what happened next would’ve been the centrepiece shot: he started fucking her from behind while she continued licking and finger-fucking me. His thrusts reverberated through her body so I could feel their impact too, so it was like he was fucking both of us. Ummm, yes.

I can’t remember too clearly but I think we wrapped things up with him coming in her mouth while I dozed beside them. (I am a sleepy person and had had a lot to drink, okay?!) And then we cuddled some more, and checked in with each other about our feeeeelings, and it was niiiice.

Afterwards, the boy asked me, “How many threesomes have you had before?” and I sleepily held up my hand in an “O” shape and said, “This many.” And then probably grinned like an idiot.
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When we got up to put our clothes back on, I found that my friend had neatly folded my underwear and the dress she’d let me borrow, and had put them in a pile for me. (Perfect sex partner etiquette.) We kissed our gentleman-pal goodbye and walked to the subway station together. She took this photo of me on the platform, and it sums up the whole evening pretty well: dishevelled post-sex hair, cute dress and jacket borrowed from her, warm boy-socks borrowed from him, red wedge heels I’d switched out for flats, and a goofy, sleepy smile on my face.

Shortly after this photo was taken, a random guy came up to us and asked us how our night had been. We burst out laughing, and my lovely amiga told him we’d “cemented our friendship” that night. He kept pressing us for details, and I don’t know if it was because I was tipsy or tired or just bursting to share the news with someone, but eventually I told him, “We just had a threesome with a guy we’ve both banged before.” The dude’s eyes practically fell out of his head, and we just laughed.

 

3 Cute Sex Toys For My Inner “Little”

My sexuality has taken a strange turn. And it’s fantastic.

It all started in a university class late last year. While listening to a hot lawyer lecture about freedom of expression and the Information Act, I found my mind drifting. “You’ve been a very bad girl,” said lawyer-dude in my transient fantasy, before tossing me over his lap, lifting my skirt and giving me a stern spanking.

When my mind finally snapped back to reality, I wondered, What the hell was that? Spanking had always been a mild interest of mine, but never in those fantasies had I regressed in age or craved a scolding. This handsome suited gentleman had awakened a long-dormant sexual persona in me: the bratty little girl who’s cruisin’ for a (consensual) bruisin’.

The age-play episode of Why Are People Into That?! just fanned the flames of my curiosity. And when I realized I had always felt sexiest in pigtails and schoolgirl skirts, everything made even more sense.

 

One of the ways you can explore “little space” to see if it’s right for you is by incorporating it into your masturbation. That way, you can experience that mindset before deciding whether to share it with a partner. And one of the most fun ways to do that, obviously, is with toys.

Here, then, are three products from OohSexToys.com.au that make my inner little girl want to cross her legs tightly and wriggle around in her chair…

 

If you’re gonna make-believe you’re a bunny rabbit, you might as well do it with a sweet-ass butt plug. This one comes in either silver- or gold-tone stainless steel, and the (faux) fur tail looks delightfully soft and sensual. Finish off the look with some bunny ears and a spot of pink face-paint on your nose, and you’ll be all set for a little-girl-pretending-to-be-a-rabbit scene. (A roleplay inside a roleplay? Is this Sexception?!)

 

Not to get too gender-essentialist on you, but hot pink is traditionally the color for little girls. Or at least, wearing hot pink makes me feel pretty damn little, in a very sweet way. Luckily, one of my favorite vibrators of all time, the We-Vibe Tango, comes in this saucy hue. Tie your hair into pigtails with some matching pink ribbon, pull up your magenta nightgown and go to town on yourself, little one.

 

Little girls like pretty things, and this glass dildo is basically a stained-glass work of art you can fuck yourself with. Its 1.3″ diameter also makes it a believable choice if you’re roleplaying as someone tiny: I love massive toys as much as the next size queen but I think my inner little might be put off by them.

 

Have you ever tried age-play, by yourself or with a partner? Does it creep you out or turn you on (or both)?

 

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