Review: Tantus Sport

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SheVibe sent me the Tantus Sport months ago, and I’ve been slacking on my reviewer responsibilities. I tried it once and immediately declared it Boring. I began to dread trying it again, because sex toys are supposed to be fun and bad sex toys ruin orgasms.

I even brought the Sport with me to #DildoHoliday, thinking its mere presence in my suitcase would pressure me into giving it another shot. But nope. The only times I even touched it were for photo ops: I took the above photo of the Sport near the firepit of the beach house we were staying in, and I also set it up in my closet for an Instagram shot.

However, when I got back home to Toronto, I decided it was time to put the pedal to the metal and the Sport to my vag. And I’m glad I did, because it’s not nearly as boring as that first testing session had convinced me. (This, fledgling sex toy reviewers, is why you must always test toys at least three times before you review them!)

Certainly, the Sport won’t excite most dildo veterans. I’d guess that everyone who was at #DildoHoliday, with the possible exception of Reenie, would find the Sport too small to be satisfying. But that’s part of what makes it a worthwhile addition to Tantus’ catalogue. I’ve been complaining for years about the lack of good small dildos on the market; the Sport is the kind of dildo that me-from-two-years-ago would have loved.

The Sport’s ball-shaped head is 1.25″ across at its widest point, making the rest of the shaft significantly smaller than that. Because vaginas are muscular and snap back into shape rather than gaping like an open pit, dildos with a big head and a smaller shaft tend to stimulate the G-spot pretty effectively, even for folks who like their dildos huge.

True, as a vagina gets turned on and swells in arousal, it may start to crave something bigger, firmer, or both of the above. That’s definitely true for me when I’m using the Sport: it’s more flexible than my G-spot prefers, and seems to lose its efficacy as my arousal mounts. But as a G-spot warm-up toy, or even a straight-up G-spot toy for folks who like their toys on the smaller end of the spectrum, the Sport performs very well.

I still maintain that the Slow Drive is my favorite of Tantus’ smaller offerings. Its finger-shaped head seems to stroke my G-spot more deliberately than the Sport’s round one. The Slow Drive’s thinner head also enables it to get all up in my A-spot without angering my cervix; this is especially true of the Slow Drive Long.

But if you know your G-spot digs round heads, and you prefer your dildos smallish, I think the Sport will be just your cup of tea.

Thank you, SheVibe!

Interview: Kasuchi, my favorite fanfiction writer

The search for erotic media that actually turns you on is always a crapshoot. Some porn aligns with all your kinks but is poorly lit or sloppily shot. Some erotica is beautifully written but just doesn’t turn your crank, subject matter-wise. All too often, I settle for stuff that almost meets my needs, but falls short in one area or another. It’s a state of affairs to which I’ve become accustomed.

Of course, my pickiness makes it all the more exciting when I discover a piece of media that ticks all my boxes. And one such example is Kasuchi’s fanfiction. Like, all of it. Everything she writes.

The character development is on point. The prose is skilled and emotive. The voices are true to the shows she writes for. The sexy scenes are hott (yes, with two T’s). Y’all know I have high standards for fanfic, and Kasuchi is nonetheless my fave writer in the whole medium.

I bugged her for an interview, because I wanted to pick her brain about how she does what she does, and how she feels about fic as a whole. She was sweet enough to answer my fawning-fangirl questions, and what ensued was a super interesting chat about fiction, fandom, fucking, and consent (hell yeah!). I hope you like reading this as much as I like reading Kasuchi’s stories…

GJ: What, for you, is the appeal of writing fanfic? What do you get out of it?

Kasuchi: I LOVE writing fic. I’ve been doing it since I was 14, give or take? But I think what I started writing fic for was me wanting to see more of the thing I loved. I wanted more about what Hermione and Ron were doing with their lives. I wanted more about Mulder and Scully and all the moments we didn’t see on screen. I wanted more about what happened between episodes of The Office.

Nowadays, I think I write fic because I love the characters and want to expand and push and build them, see what happens under duress, see what happens (and feels natural, given what we know about who and how they are) when they’re put in non-comedic situations. I won’t also pretend some of it isn’t wish fulfillment; I want those two characters (any two characters, let’s be honest) to kiss, and to kiss passionately, right now, almost always.

GJ: What qualities/criteria do you consider important in good fanfic?

Kasuchi: Ah, that’s such a subjective question! Because I think everyone comes to media and their material with their own biases and prejudices and experiences, and those things color what we think of as being “good,” you know?

For me, I look for primarily three things:

(1) Dialogue — I need, NEED, the dialogue to be good, to be realistic, to be true to the characters. It doesn’t have to be exactly what the character would say in any given situation, because that’s not our job as fic writers. But, I have to believe that character would say that, meaning you (the author) have to do a lot of work to get me to that. If a generally goofy character is serious and responding with real gravitas, show me how and why that is before we get to that moment. Or, do that moment and then show me how we got there emotionally. Basically: is the dialogue naturalistic and natural to the character? If no, I click away.

(2) Narration has to flow — does the narration of the story match the tone? If we’ve got a story that’s about a character, like a vignette about their emotional growth, then the narration is everything, because it’s our (the readers’) glimpse into their inner monologue. If we’ve got a missing scene/moment kind of fic, then maybe the narration needs to get out of the way so that the dialogue can shine. For example, I’ve been writing characters who are detectives or generally observant; the narration tends to include notes about body language or expression changes, things I believe a good detective would notice and file away.

(3) Verisimilitude — Does this feel like real life? Since I’m not involved in many fantasy fandoms, this is really important. I love authors doing research on the setting of a show and including location details. Hell, I live in New York and write in details about Brooklyn into my fics about Brooklyn Nine-Nine all the time. I love that; it gives stories a sense of place and a better sense of how the fic itself fits into the larger world it resides in.

GJ: What qualities/criteria in a TV show (or other piece of media) make you want to write fanfic about it?

Kasuchi: Frankly: a lack of emotional resolution on some front. Shipping is the easiest one of these, but I wrote a lot of NCIS fic because the show was so rude to my fave character (Tony, and Tim to a lesser extent — and this was true of Psych, too) by always making him the butt of the joke or giving him the most depressing outcome and playing it for laughs. So I wrote fic to compensate for that, to make him more heroic or romantic or capable in a way that the show seemed determined to not do. That’s usually what gets me writing.

GJ: Do you have any tips for writing good sex scenes, in fanfic or fiction more generally?

Kasuchi: I’ve actually got a huge essay about this that I’ve been writing since, uh, last May (oops) but I think my best tip is: don’t do it before you’re ready. I was 16 when I read my first explicit sex scene, and I wrote my first one when I was 17. I didn’t even have my first kiss until I was 19! I wrote a lot of fade-to-black and sensual stuff before I felt more comfortable talking the mechanics of sex in fiction.

Now, from a more “authorly” perspective, I’d say: read romance novels. Read them voraciously. Read as many as you can. And not the category stuff (the Harlequins and Mills & Boon books), though adding some of those into your reading diet is good, too. Rather, read the single-issue stuff, the 250-page behemoths that usually have 3 scenes that are 20 pages of sex. Read those. Read erotica, the published stuff — Allison Tyler and Jaci Burton and Cathryn Fox and Lacey Alexander and Maya Banks and so many other women who have written — have BEEN writing — erotica for over a decade. Their work is there, and fanfiction is as much about the learning as it is the product. Go read the masters, go recreate their work. We all learn that way. I won’t pretend some of my early (unpublished? I honestly can’t remember) fic is me literally rewriting treatments of Mulder/Scully and Inuyasha/Kagome erotic fanfiction. Unless you’re having a lot of sex as research (which, hey, no shame in that game), the reading of novels/short stories is much easier.

The most important thing: do not use pornography as a template. Porn tends to be soulless and empty, with at least one of the parties mentally disengaged. Some pornography isn’t like this, but those studios are few and far between and often cater to queer markets. That’s fine, but if you want to show intimacy in your erotic scenes, I would urge reading written material and using pornography (or gifs of pornography) as inspiration rather than a guide.

GJ: Do you consciously choose to integrate enthusiastic consent into the sexy parts of your stories? (One of my favorite examples is that moment in “I’ll Know My Name As It’s Called Again” when Jake pulls at Amy’s pants and says “Yeah?” and she says “Yeah.” So perfect!) Do you think erotica writers have an obligation to include this element, or can erotica be “escapism” that doesn’t conform to real-life sexual rules?

Kasuchi: Oooh, this is a really big question. I think I’ll try to answer it by going backwards.

I don’t think that erotica has an obligation to include these moments of consent. But: I’d also differentiate between “types” of erotica.

I think published work and erotic fanfiction should include these moments. Here’s why: for the published stuff, art tends to serve as a bellweather and a measure of social acceptance and change. We can see this most obviously with drunk driving; thanks to television, the idea of driving home drunk is pretty anathema to most of the “millennial” set. In the same vein, what we consume (i.e. erotica, which when published is essentially “curated”) should serve as a way of normalizing consent. I know many people come to read erotica for different reasons, but no one is going to prevent young, curious teens from checking those books out from the library or sneaking them out of their parents’ rooms or buying them along with YA stuff from the bookstore. Hell, with the e-readers, it doesn’t even matter!

So in that sense, erotica becomes for women (and I use women here only because I think women are socialized to seek out reading material rather than audio-visual material, and because these books target women in turn) — most especially young women — a gateway to getting questions answered. To that end, yes, erotica needs to include consent. And, for similar reasons, we need to have those moments of enthusiastic consent written into our fanfiction. Fandom as an audience tends to skew young, I think; I’m 25 and I feel like the Old Lady in the Room, sometimes. So, knowing this, I think fic has a responsibility to be the change we want to see in the world. I know I learned a lot about the world, about relationships, about women and friendships and families from fanfiction and other writings. Knowing that, I tend to do a huge amount of research for stories because I want to pass on that gift of learning from fic onto the next “generation” of fandom.

I do think there’s a space for escapist erotica, though. Kinkmemes are explicitly that: wish-fulfillment. Same for Literotica; despite its classy title, it’s sorted by kink, and that’s important, because going in, you know what you’re getting yourself into. I won’t pretend there aren’t erotic stories that I go back to that I fully know are escapism. The delineating factor there is knowing what purpose that work serves. It titillates and it touches on taboo subjects and it is me going into the story aware of its hows and whys. That’s not the same as me reading a fic that pretends to be about my two faves having a romantic weekend away together, but then there being elements of non- and dub-con. Warnings exist for this reason. Kinkmemes exist for this reason. Consent should and must be a natural, normal part of sex, just like condom/prophylactic use is de rigeur in most pornographic films and even in published erotica and contemporary (and even some historical!) romances.

Do I consciously choose to integrate it into my stories? At first, no. But at this point, not doing so doesn’t feel like Jake Peralta (in this specific instance) — but I feel I’ll keep writing that into my more erotic work. I like it because it gives the reader a moment to take a breath before the rest of the story goes, and it gives the characters a moment to check in with each other, something that I think is hard to “choreography” into a love scene naturally as it progresses.

For the scene you reference specifically, Jake tugs at her waistband but doesn’t pull them off of Amy until she says yes. Consent is freely, enthusiastically, continuously given. And, I love the idea of one character giving the other an “out” because I think that’s just fair. Plus, it’s such a great character moment; the one giving the out is doing so out of affection and insecurity; in doing so, they’re saying, “It’s okay, we don’t have to go further than this.” And the other, in reaffirming their consent, is saying to the other, “You’re the one that I want.” In what universe is that anything but simultaneously hot and moving? Consent is 100% sexy.

10 Reasons Why Sex-Positive Friendship is Important

L to R: Reenie, Aerie, Bex, Penny, Kate, Epiphora, GJ
L to R: Reenie, Aerie, Bex, Penny, Kate, Epiphora, me!

 

#DildoHoliday is decidedly over, and dildrop is real.

I miss the beautiful house we stayed in. I miss the delicious group meals. I miss the mid-day masturbation breaks.

But mostly, I miss my friends.

When my dad was driving me to the airport to depart for Portland, he asked me, “Won’t it be weird to stay in a house with strangers?” but that’s not how I felt at all. These people weren’t strangers; I’d been corresponding with them on Twitter and other mediums for years. I already knew them better than I know most of the acquaintances I regularly see at home in Toronto: the guy who owns my favorite café, the distant classmates in some of my courses, the boys in my brother’s rock band.

I have sex-positive friends “in real life” as well, but #DildoHoliday really showed me just how important it is to have friends who are on the same page as you in as many ways as possible. There’s comfort and strength in that, for all of us, I think. Here are 10 reasons why sex-positive friendship is so valuable and crucial…

1. There’s no sexual shame. With my deeply sex-positive friends, I can talk about my kinks – even the ones I consider weird, taboo, or potentially unethical – and there’s no shame associated with it, from me or from my friends. If someone mentions fantasizing about exhibitionism or incest or watersports, no one even bats an eye. The most reaction you might get is something like, “Cool! Sounds fun!” or “Interesting! How’d you get into that?”

2. There’s no body shame, either. Body-positivity and sex-positivity are two different concepts with two different communities, but there’s a lot of overlap; most of my friends in each category also fall into the other. Being a chubby lady, I sometimes feel weird about getting naked (or even just exposing “problem areas” of my body) around people who I think might judge me; that’s not an issue with my body-positive pals. I can also eat what I want without worrying about how my food choices are being perceived. And in seeing all the carefree, happy body acceptance exhibited by my friends, I can get a little closer to that goal myself.

3. We don’t have to explain ourselves. Yeah, I own a lot of sex toys. Yeah, I sometimes post nudes on the internet. Yeah, I’m ideally looking for a kinky, non-monogamous person to be my next beau. There’s nothing wrong with any of that, and my sex-positive friends understand that without having to be convinced. Likewise, I accept their kinks and quirks, because that’s what “sex-positive” means: everything is A-OK as long as it’s safe, sane and consensual.

4. We don’t have to provide basic education. Look, I’m all for making the world a better place by teaching folks about sex, but I don’t want to do it all the time. It takes a lot of energy to explain, for example, why penetrative orgasms are an unreasonable goal for most vagina-havers, why a particular advertisement is sexist or racist, or what it means to be a sex toy reviewer. It’s nice to be around people who’ve taken the time to educate themselves and who therefore understand me without requiring me to explain what I consider basic-level concepts.

5. We nerd out about the same stuff. We refer to Tristan by her first name only, because we all know who she is and what she does. We get enthused about new sex toys on the market and discuss ‘em with wild abandon. Making our own glass dildos sounds 100% fun and 0% weird. (More about that in a future blog post, OF COURSE!) Sharing in each other’s enthusiasms brings us closer and – yes – makes life a ton more fun.

6. We can give each other advice. And not just basic, unhelpful advice that you could find on Google or Yahoo Answers – high-level advice tailored to the person asking. If I’m on the hunt for a new sex toy and I ask an in-the-know friend, she can suggest a toy that’s not only good but good for me specifically. Or I can ask a friend how to approach a difficult sexual conversation, knowing that she’ll keep my anxiety issues in mind when she answers. Or I can help my friend craft a tricky email to a sex toy retailer, knowing exactly what’s at stake and why she’s struggling with it. The better you know your friends and the worlds they’re a part of, the better equipped you are to help them navigate those worlds.

7. We can be sexual around each other without it getting weird. I once had sex with my then-FWB while my best friend photographed us. I’ve masturbated in front of friends, and watched them do the same. I’ve told friends explicit stories about sex and masturbation, and listened to theirs. I’ve watched porn with friends, groaned at the hottest parts, and talked in detail about how our vaginas were reacting to the scenes’ events. When you do this stuff with sex-positive pals, it tends to feel like a natural extension of your friendship instead of like some strange, stilted step into another realm. Sexual pleasure is a massive source of joy and I see no reason to fence it into my romantic relationships exclusively.

8. We get excited about each other’s sexy adventures. I still remember the time I texted a friend to tell her I’d given my first-ever blowjob and she responded by telling me she didn’t want to hear about stuff like that. It hurt to have a friend snub me about something I considered thrilling and momentous. With my present-day sex-positive friends, that kind of thing would never happen. My family and casual pals may not applaud me when I manage to insert a large dildo for the first time or gasp in delight when I tell them I met my favorite porn star, but my sex-positive friends do – because they get it.

9. We complain and commiserate for the greater good. My friends understand that it’s gross when some dude silently favorites all my selfies, that mansplainers are the scum of the earth, and that weak vibrators make clits sad. When we complain together about stuff like this, we can make it into a joke, something to laugh at, so it becomes more palatable and easier to tolerate. We may not be able to rid the world of douchebros and shitty toys, but we can laugh our asses off about them, which is almost as good.

10. We help each other expand and explore. I would never have gotten naked on camera if I didn’t have friends who shoot porn and nudes, but I’ve loved doing it and it’s helped me evolve as a sexual person. I would have taken much longer to end my last relationship, even though it was clearly dead, if my friends hadn’t encouraged me to go through with it. One of my most treasured memories from #DildoHoliday is a round-table discussion we had where we all shared what we’d like to see each other blog about. When your friends are living sex-positive lives, they can help you see how to live that way too, in bigger and better ways every day. And that’s a very good thing.

What do you appreciate most about your sex-positive amigos?

Yes Yes Yes And: Fear is Your Friend

Sometimes I feel like this blog is ultimately just a slow reveal of all my nerdy quirks. Like a striptease, except instead of my naked body, you get to see more and more dorky facts about me. Like how I love Sherlock fanfiction, keep statistics on my sleep cycles, and think speculums are cool.

One of my more impassioned nerdy interests is improv. I studied it for years in high school, played on a competitive team, and even coached a troupe for a year. I don’t do much ‘prov these days, though I do still go to shows and fangirl in the improvisors’ general direction.

Lately I’ve been listening to the Backline podcast and it has reignited my improv obsession in full force. And as I listen, I’m increasingly aware that my improv training has actually helped me out sexually, in more ways than one. So I’m launching a little blog series called Yes Yes Yes And, to dissect the parallels between improv and sex. (If you’re wondering why the hell this feature is titled that: it’s a dumb improv joke that makes me smile. “Yes, and” is the guiding principle of improv, and “Yes yes yes!” is, uh, you could say, a guiding principle of good sex.)

Sexprov lesson #1: fear is your friend.

If you improvise, you will be scared. There’s no way around it. My coach used to tell me, “Jump into the fear.” Rob Norman says, “The fear never goes away; you just start to like it.”

Not only do you start to like it; you also learn how to improvise through your fear, instead of panicking or freezing up. You get better at being in the moment and staying present, so that even if adrenaline is flooding your system, you can still string sentences together, follow a narrative, listen to your scene partner, and generate new ideas as you go along.

Fear helps you grow. It pushes you. It keeps you on your toes. It shines a spotlight on your struggles so you know what areas to try to improve upon. It’s not inherently a bad thing; it’s just a signal, a tool. Frank Sinatra once said he probably wouldn’t want to keep performing if he no longer experienced stage fright, because what would be the point?

When it comes to sex, obviously, there are situations where fear is bad. You should never have sex that genuinely scares you, because that wouldn’t be consensual. Sex should feel positive and exciting.

But sometimes, fear is just excitement with the brakes on. You can feel the difference between “good fear” and “bad fear.” If it’s bad, your whole body and your deepest intuition all scream “NO” – but if it’s good, some part of you feels exhilarated and intrigued. Your apprehensive adrenaline rush is accompanied by breathless what-ifs and desperate wishes. The needle on your internal meter trembles a little closer to “Fuck yeah!” than it does to “Hell no!”

I know from firsthand experience that getting over sexual fear is worth doing. There was a time when even the thought of touching a penis made me want to vomit from anxiety. But when I actually started to do it, I realized it was lots of fun. And from there, I came to recognize that if I could get over that fear – a terror that had, at various times, made me cry, panic, and consider a life of celibacy – then I could truly do anything.

Doing scary shit gives you a “fear reference” for tackling bigger and bigger challenges. Any time you encounter a scary new situation, in or out of the bedroom, you can remind yourself, “Hey, I did [that terrifying thing], and it turned out great. I can do this, too!”

You will often be surprised at how delicious it feels to do shit that makes you nervous. Once you buck up and do it, you feel like a goddamn superhero. And you’ll probably have a hell of a lot of fun in the process.

Have you ever overcome a sexual fear? Have you embraced fear as a positive motivator in your life, sexually or otherwise?

Three Cheers for Foreskins!: Tantus’ New Uncut Dildos

My Twitter stream is always full of sex toy photos, so you’d think I’d be desensitized to them – but when I saw the pictures of Tantus’ new Uncut dildos, I actually moaned out loud.

Foreskins are my jam, dude. I would never kick a guy out of bed for being circumcised – it’s not his fault, after all, and penises are wonderful regardless of their accoutrements – but if I’m honest with myself, I’d rather fuck dudes who are intact. Visually and tactilely, for me, foreskins are where it’s at.

So, yeah, I’m pretty damn excited about Tantus’ new offerings: the medium-sized Uncut 1 and mega-sized Uncut 2.

They’re both made of Tantus’ exquisite dual-density silicone, which pairs with the dildos’ realistic appearance to create a truly lifelike experience. They come in three different (beautiful) skin tones. Oh, Tantus. You sure know how to spoil us.

Mainly what excites me about these toys is that they could help to normalize – and eroticize – intact penises. In North America, it’s heartbreakingly common for uncircumcised guys to feel insecure about what makes them different, even though their anatomy is, of course, totally natural. Just as I perk up a little when I see chubby ladies rocking their sexy-ass curves, I hope that uncut guys will see these dildos and feel terrific about their package!

The future is here, folks: sex toys exist which represent real, diverse bodies. What other kinds of sex toys would you like to see in the future?

(This post wasn’t sponsored. I really am that enthusiastic about foreskins.)