Musings

The Dildorks Podcast: Dorky Discourse on Sex, Dating, and Masturbating

Kate Sloan

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My best friend Bex and I are on the same wavelength about practically everything. We like the same sex educators, the same porn stars, the same restaurants, the same pop songs, even occasionally the same boys. We agree on just about every issue; it’s what makes us #BrainTwins.

So I wasn’t surprised when, last October, we discovered we both wanted to start a podcast. It made perfect sense. Like it was destined to happen all along.

In the months that followed, two things happened in my friendship with Bex: we became a whole lot closer, and we talked more and more about the podcast we wanted to co-create. It began to take shape in our many conversations about sex-related media we loved and hated. Our favorite stuff was the deep-dive, sex-nerdy shit that got into the nitty-gritty of sexuality the way we did in our own conversations with friends. We loved Tina Horn’s kink philosophizin’, Epiphora‘s blasé snarkiness, Sinclair Sexsmith’s profound discussions of D/s, Allison Moon’s goofy sluttiness. We dreamed of creating a resource for sex nerds that was silly, authentic, informative, and that went beyond the “sex 101” stuff plastered all over the internet.

In one of our many brainstorming sessions over Skype, Bex came up with the name: The Dildorks. (‘Cause we’re dorks and we like dildos. Get it?!) I coined the tagline: “Dorky discourse on sex, dating, and masturbating.” And then, with trepidation and with love, we recorded our first episode.

We were blessed to receive contributions from some super talented people: our art is by Amy and our theme song is by Protodome. I am so excited about this project because of all the cool folks I get to work with – most especially Bex! ♥

You can listen to our podcast in an on-site player, download the file directly, or subscribe to us on iTunes. I hope you’ll join us for this episode and all our future ones!

8 Things Nobody Tells You About Getting the Backs of Your Thighs Tattooed

Kate Sloan

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I love my new tattoos more than I can possibly express. It gives me great joy on the daily to spot them peeking out of my skirts or shorts in the mirror, or to hear the squeals of delight when someone notices them for the first time. They are exactly what I wanted and look even better than I had hoped.

However, the healing process has been an ordeal, y’all. I took good care of my tats, washing them once or twice a day with Dove soap and moisturizing obsessively with unscented Lubriderm, so I didn’t get any infections or complications, knock wood – but infections aren’t the only thing you have to worry about when you get tattooed. The body part you choose can affect your life in lots of areas. Here are some things I wish someone had told me about getting the backs of my thighs tattooed…

You won’t be able to sit properly for a while. For some reason, when I pictured getting my upper thighs tattooed, it didn’t occur to me that that’s what I sit on when I sit down. My thought process was, “The tattoos won’t be on my butt, so I’ll be fine.” Nope. Your thighs are directly implicated in the sitting-down process. Some of this issue can be dealt with by just sitting less, e.g. working at a standing desk, which I did. But in my day-to-day, I didn’t want to subject my fresh or healing tattoos to scratchy couch cushions, filthy bus shelter benches, or fancy theatre seats – so I adopted a sitting position for the first few days post-inking that involved pulling my knees up so my thighs wouldn’t touch the surface below me. Not only does this look super weird (especially in more conservative environments, like the theatre), but it also started to feel not-so-great after a while: my bad knees didn’t appreciate being bent for that long, and I needed to take pain pills to get through those first few days. Yikes.

Using the toilet is risky business. Time for some real talk! What I just said about your thighs being involved in the sitting process? That’s true for sitting on the toilet, too. I experimented with sitting really far forward (often resulting in spraying the bathroom floor), sitting with my knees up (effective, but requires flexibility and impeccable aim), and even straddling the toilet so as to pee into it from above (hard on my knees, hard to aim, and looks goddamn ridiculous). This isn’t so much an issue at my own house, where I know the toilets are more-or-less clean; it was more a concern in public bathrooms, which are, as you know, a festering cesspool of bacteria. If I had this process to do over again, I would invest in a stand-to-pee device.

Spanking is off the table. I don’t think I fully realized just how integral spanking is to my sexuality until I got these tattoos. I took a spanking hiatus that lasted from a week before getting the tattoos to a week after, and that felt like forever. During that time, I read books about spanking, watched spanking porn, researched spanking physiology, sexted with beaux about the spankings they would give me once they were allowed to… I was a girl possessed. And in fact, I wish I’d waited longer to get spanked again after getting inked, because the people topping me, while well-intentioned, didn’t always have the best aim and sometimes smacked me right on the tattoos. I found, oddly enough, that spanking other people scratched that particular kink-itch for me – not completely, but enough that I could get through those spankless weeks without going off the deep end.

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Your sex positions are limited. Do what I say, not what I do: avoid getting doggy-styled for at least a couple weeks post-tattooing. I am an idiot and got fucked from behind three days after Tattoo Day – in a park, no less – because I was drunk and just wasn’t thinking about the health implications. I’m extremely lucky I didn’t scratch or irritate my new tattoos on my partner’s thigh hair or pubes, and that I didn’t get any dirt, dust, or lube in there. When I got inked, I initially intended to take a break from any kind of sex involving my genitals (BJ Week, woooo!), but I have zero self-control and that didn’t happen. Still: if you must get boned after getting your thighs tattooed (and trust me, I understand), just be careful, choose your positions accordingly, and wash your tattoos after, just incase anything got in there that shouldn’t have.

Dudes think they’re extremely sexy. I guess I knew this on some level. My tattoos are explicitly meant to be sexual, after all. But, wow, I still managed to underestimate just how much attention they would attract. Whether I’m in a sex club or just walking down the street, fully flashing my tats or just letting them poke out the bottom of a skirt, they certainly get me noticed. Sometimes this level of attention is welcome, and sometimes, less so. I think I’ll be careful from now on to keep my ink covered if I’m in a “please, nobody touch or talk to me” kind of mood.

You will end up showing a lot of people your butt. Your tattoo artist, for one. Your friends. Your partner(s). Your relatives. Pretty much anyone who’s heard about your new tattoos will want to see them, and if you oblige what they ask, that will involve turning around, bending over, and pulling up your skirt/pulling down your pants to show ’em what you got. I’m not normally too bothered by showing people my ass, but I did have a couple of close calls – for example, the time a conservative family member wanted to see my tats and I accidentally gave her an eyeful of fresh spanking bruises along with the ink. Whoops.

They’re hard to get pictures of. This is not a joke: you should probably buy a selfie stick if you’re about to get the backs of your thighs tattooed. I consider myself fairly skilled at taking butt selfies – it involves a lot of spine-twisting, arm-reaching, and clever angling – but your thighs are even farther away from your hands and your eyes so there is even more contortion involved. Do yourself a favor and pick up a selfie stick, because even if you don’t intend on taking “sexy” photos, you’ll probably at least want some pictures of the healing process for posterity. (Posterity… Posterior… Get it?!)

You can’t really even see them. Wow, I didn’t expect this! Without the help of a mirror or a smartphone’s selfie mode, I literally can’t see my tattoos at all. No amount of twisting and rubber-necking allows me to see any part of them. That might be due to my particular body (thigh size, lack of flexibility, and so on), but still: if you want tattoos you’ll be able to see all the time, the back of your thigh is a bad spot. As for me, I’m okay with it – I don’t mind looking in the mirror to see my ink, and I suspect I’d get sick of a tattoo faster if it was in my sightline all the time.

What do you wish someone had told you before you got a tattoo?

10 Activities That Are More Fun With a Butt Plug In

Kate Sloan

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I am always looking for “life hacks” that will make my day-to-day feel more joyful, more decadent, and more rewarding. I think this stems partly from my struggle with depression: if there’s any way I can convince myself to get out of bed on a bad day, I’ll try it, even if it’s something small and silly like putting on red lipstick, cranking some uplifting tunes, or – yes – inserting a butt plug.

If you like anal play, wearing a plug can bring a little extra magic into just about any endeavor. Slather your plug with anal lube, slide it in, and try any of these activities – if nothing else, they’ll be more interesting!

Penetrative sex. You may have tried this already. It can be a grand old time. If you have a prostate, the plug will rub against it with every thrust – and if you have a vagina, wearing a plug will make you extra tight, which your partner might enjoy. I’ll never forget the time I got fucked while a large-ish plug was in my butt, and my partner exclaimed, “Jesus Christ, you’re so tight! Who turned the sleep number up to 100 in your vagina?!”

Receiving oral sex. Gettin’ head can feel fantastic, but sometimes it just isn’t quite enough to get me off. A partner’s fingers inside me can add a little extra stimulation if need be, but that requires a lot of co-ordination on the part of the giver. Using a butt plug while receiving oral can circumvent this problem. The plug will shift and undulate slightly with the turned-on pulses of your pelvic muscles, creating a mild sensation of getting fucked that might help push you over the edge.

Giving oral sex. Going down on your sweetie can be a massive turn-on; even moreso if you have something to squeeze around while you do it. The giver’s enjoyment and enthusiasm are a make-or-break factor in good oral sex, so you’re doing a favor for both yourself and your partner if you find a way to crank up your pleasure even higher.

Getting spanked. Sex educator Tina Horn has said that one of her favorite things about spanking is just getting to handle a butt, because butts are great. In my experience, this isn’t uncommon: oftentimes, when someone is into doing stuff to butts more generally, they’re into spanking, and vice versa. So if your partner likes smackin’ your ass, they might enjoy the added excitement and extra squirming that results when you wear a plug while they do it.

Running errands. Look, no one said grocery shopping or going to the bank was going to be a rip-roaring good time. But you can make these things slightly more thrilling by doing ’em while plugged. It’s a fun secret you can carry around with you. (Bring extra lube so you can pop into a public bathroom for a quick reapplication if needed!)

Housework. I loathe cleaning my room, putting away my laundry, and organizing my desk. If I have to do these things (which I do, because I’m an adult and I don’t have on-staff maids), I might as well have a happy butt while I’m adulting. Bonus points if you put on some Taylor Swift or Carly Rae and dance around while you clean your space.

Working. I wouldn’t recommend wearing a plug at an actual workplace, although I know people who have. But if you work from home (or from cafés comme moi), wearing a plug can stiffen your spine and wake up your brain. This is especially true if you’ve got a dom-y partner who’s told you, for example, that the plug should serve as a reminder that they are expecting you to get your work done or you’ll get a punishment…!

Facing a fear. Speaking of dom-y partners: often it is easier to do something that scares you if someone you adore has commanded you to do so. A plug can be a tangible reminder of this, as you take on whatever’s terrifying you, from public speaking to air travel to returning the clothes your ex left behind at your house. Even without a partner bossing you into bravery, a plug can still give you something to focus on while you tackle your fears, like how meditators are instructed to focus on their breathing. It sounds silly, but the sensation of something in your butt can ground you and keep you present when your anxiety-brain is pulling you out of your body.

Posing for pictures. Tyra Banks famously advocates “smizing”: the modeling trick of smiling with your eyes, not your mouth. It creates an approachable warmth that looks lovely in photos. I think wearing a butt plug could do the same thing! You’ll have a glimmer in your eyes that says, “I have a secret.” The goofiness of this situation might even help relax you, so your natural charm and beauty come through in whatever boudoir shots or glamorous headshots you’re posing for.

Getting ready for a date. If your beau is into butt stuff, you can prepare your ass by wearing a plug before and/or during your date – how thoughtful of you! But even if not, sporting a plug during your pre-date prep could help get you in a sexy, flirty headspace. As your butt muscles relax around the plug, so too will you relax, loosen up, and lighten up!

What are your favorite activities to pair with a butt plug?

This post was sponsored by lubezone.org, and as always, all writing and opinions are my own!

Meditation, Mindfulness, & My Slutty Mouth

Kate Sloan

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Two major things happened to me in February: I had one of the worst depressive and anxious spells of my life, and I became obsessed with giving blowjobs.

I don’t think it was a coincidence that these things happened at the same time. We’re drawn to what we most need at any given moment: when your body’s deficient in magnesium, for example, you might crave chocolate. And likewise, I see now that when I most needed to clear my mind and focus up, I craved the sexual act that gave me that experience most readily.

This connection didn’t really hit me until the owner of my favorite BJ dick skipped town and I found myself in a fellatio drought for a while. As my anxious and depressive episode worsened, I craved blowjobs the way I’ve craved other life-affirming touchstones: nutritious food, quality friend-time, creative expression, cat cuddles. It ran deeper than my typical carnal hankerings. It felt more like a core psychological need.

When you struggle with anxiety and depression, people constantly offer unsolicited advice. So I’ve heard it all. “Get more sunshine!” “Try yoga!” “Eat more greens!” One suggestion I’ve heard many times is mindfulness. This seems counterintuitive at first blush – if my issue is feeling sad and scared, won’t focusing on those feelings just make me sadder and scared-er? – but I actually find it works the opposite way. Acknowledging my negative self-talk, greeting it like an old friend instead of slamming the door in its face, diffuses some of its power. And then I refocus on my breath and my body instead of my buzzing brain, and those quotidian sensations are calming in their simplicity. It’s not a magic pill, but it’s something.

That’s what blowjobs can be for me: a venue for mindfulness. They force me into my body and don’t allow me to fall back into my anxiety-brain until the deed is done.

When I first started giving BJs at age 19, I didn’t find it hot at all. “My mouth just isn’t an erotic zone for me,” I remember telling a friend. I felt all those mouth sensations very vividly – the weight of a cock on my tongue, the texture of the skin sliding over my lips, the smells and tastes – and they captured my attention so completely that I couldn’t focus on other things, like my own arousal or pleasure. I hadn’t yet developed a concept of sexual enjoyment that didn’t centre on my own genitals, so I interpreted my BJ dalliances as, “My mouth just isn’t eroticized.” Wow, how wrong I was.

That sensory overwhelm is the main reason I enjoy BJs so much now. They are unique among sexual acts for me in this way. When someone’s fucking me, fingering me, or even going down on me, I can tune it out to some extent if I want to. My mind can wander into anxiety-land, and sometimes I need to remind myself, “Oh, right, I’m having sex right now!” I never, ever experience that with a blowjob. I can’t. My mouth is so front-and-center in my perception that I can’t think about much else when I’m slobbin’ on the knob. It’s just me and the dick, and nothing else matters.

Leo Babauta calls this concept “the universe of a single task” (albeit in a rather different context!). He writes that you should “make each task its own universe, its own specialness.” This is an approach I try (and often fail) to bring to my relationships, my creative work, my very existence as a human. But for some reason, when it comes to blowjobs, I succeed. A beej can be my entire world for its whole duration and I don’t feel deprived or distracted. It is my everything.

This is highly affirming at times when I feel like a fuck-up in every other arena. Maybe I’ve missed a work deadline, or I’m fighting with someone I love, or my financial situation is unsteady. It doesn’t matter. Faced with a dick to suck, all that other shit fades away. A blowjob is a task with crystal-clear parameters and expectations, unlike many other challenges we face. I know exactly what I am supposed to do and how to do it, especially if the person I’m blowing is someone whose body and preferences I’m familiar with. I’m not an Olympic-level cocksucker, but I feel fairly confident in my skillz. Giving a good beej makes me feel empowered and successful even when I don’t feel that way about my life as a whole.

Of course, I’m a kinkster, so my brain is forever swimming in kink, and that probably informs the psychologically restorative way I experience BJs. Being a good girl – in this case, by giving good head – is a way for me to feel valuable when I otherwise don’t. My boss, editor, dad, and best friend could all be fuming at me, but if I’m pleasing a dom partner, that’s all I’m thinking about at that moment – and I’ll feel great about it. Maybe that’s fucked up, but there’ve been times when the satisfaction I glean from pleasing a partner was the boost I needed after depression dug me into a hole in every area of life.

Giving head is also an activity that gives you moment-to-moment feedback on how you’re doing. That is precious and rare in this world of anxiety-provoking uncertainty. I can try out a new trick during a BJ and know in under five seconds whether it’s a flop or a worthy addition to my repertoire. Nifty!

This all makes it sound like I approach fellatio as a zen monk would approach his meditation cushion, and that’s not quite right. True, sometimes kneeling at a partner’s feet to take his dick into my mouth feels akin to prostrating myself before a statue of a revered deity. But there is, of course, a sexy element too. Beyond just having a straight-up BJ kink – which I absolutely do – I also think the psychological calm I get from sucking cock takes the pressure off my sexual brakes. The less anxiety and overwhelm I’m feeling, the easier it is for sexual arousal to flow into my body and mind. Abraham-Hicks says your mood is like a cork held underwater, and it rises fast as soon as you let go of it; I find it’s the same with my arousal. The less I cling to my anxiety, the quicker I turn into a hot puddle of arousal in the presence of things that turn me on. Hence, a meditative blowjob – or other anxiety-quashers like marijuana, booze, and sleepiness – makes me hornier by sheer virtue of eliminating my stressors.

Naturally, this process relies on having a partner I trust – someone who I feel safe relaxing around. But I’ve found this penile peace with more casual partners, too. It’s a nice moment for both of us – him luxuriating in pleasure, and me zoning out on his dick. It’s why, for example, my Tinder hookup in Minneapolis asked me mid-beej if I wanted to “do anything else with that cock,” and I looked up at him with confusion in my eyes and said, “…No.” It had been a couple months since I’d had a hard dick in my mouth, and dammit, I needed my fix.

 

Do you find certain sexual acts meditative or calming? Got any stories or suggestions?

23 Things I Learned About Sex & Relationships At Age 23

Kate Sloan

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Today’s my 24th birthday! It’s a good day to reflect on the past year, because I think 23 was my most transformative and educational year yet. I banged and dated a bunch of different people, and it was essentially a crash course in emotional maturity and sexual confidence. Here are 23 of the most valuable lessons I learned about sex and relationships over the past year!

  1. I have a DD/lg kink. I first noticed these feelings back in late 2014 when a hot lawyer inspired some surprising fantasies in my bad little brain. In November I started seeing a dude who was muuuch kinkier and more kink-experienced than me, and when I disclosed to him that I had burgeoning DD/lg fantasies, he knew exactly what to do with that information. I still vividly remember the time I sassily asked him why I should follow his instruction to jerk off for him and he said, “Because you’re a good little girl.” It was the first time anyone had ever said anything like that to me before, and my vagina did cartwheels.
  2. Terrible mental health days are terrible kink days. At least, for me. If I’m already feeling extremely shaky, anxious, or depressed, kink tends to just worsen my mood. I learned my lesson from the time in January when an intense spanking on an already-anxious day made me burst into tears and sob deeply for several minutes while my confused partner tried to comfort me.
  3. …but, kink can help with mental health. Paradoxical, yes – but for me, there’s a fine and important line between “too distraught to submit” and “just distraught enough that submitting will actually help.” Pain, punishment and praise can help shake me out of a poor mental health day, used judiciously with a trusted partner.
  4. I can have casual sex… with people I don’t really like. Sex tends to open up my emotional floodgates, intensifying any burgeoning crush-y feels that already exist there. I was able to have some casual, feels-free fuckbuddies this year, but only because we didn’t click romantically. This is useful info for me to know going forward, though it does mean I’m incapable of being “chill” with anyone I even remotely like.
  5. I like pain (in some places). I’ve dabbled in spanking over the years, but it wasn’t until age 23 that I really grasped how much pleasure I can get from pain. Getting my tits and/or ass slapped has become one of my favorite foreplay activities. I even like getting my hair pulled, a proclivity that used to mystify me.
  6. I love giving blowjobs. HOO BOY, this was a big theme of my year. My previous blowjob experience encompassed only one partner, and while he was lovely, his dick and my mouth just didn’t have chemistry. In broadening my BJ horizons, I’ve discovered how much I can crave having a cock in my mouth when the right one comes along. (I’ve gotten pretty damn good at it, too.)
  7. I’m more of a size queen than I thought. Remember when I first started this blog and dildos over 1.5″ in diameter were a stretch for me? That is certainly not the case anymore… Just ask my Eleven, Double Trouble, and Seaside Steamroller!
  8. I need to trust my intuition more. My anxiety is excellent at talking me out of what I know, deep down, to be true. When I let myself listen to my hunches, I can usually tell when someone is flirting with me, likes me, or wants to get in my pants – and it happens more often than my anxiety wants me to realize.
  9. Aftercare is important. Coming from a pretty vanilla history, I never thought much about the importance of aftercare until I really needed it. Fortunately, all my kinky partners this past year (and even the vanilla ones) gave me the post-sex cuddles and reassurances I needed.
  10. Most men like thigh-high socks. They just do.
  11. Sex is grown-up playtime. My favorite sex is the goofy, unstructured kind. I love trying stuff, experimenting, playing around. I’m happiest in sexual partnerships with people who are similarly fun-oriented, rather than goal-oriented.
  12. I like being pinned down. Have you ever had a moment where, suddenly and all at once, you noticed a kink of yours that you never knew you had? That was me last summer when a partner put a firm hand on my upper chest and held me down while finger-fucking me. I went from “huh, that feels pretty good” to “holy shit, I am coming right now!” in about three seconds flat. I’ve been pinned down during sex a bunch of times since then, with similar outcomes. Now that I know I like this, I want to get better at asking for it!
  13. Threesomes are fun, but not really my jam. I’ve gained a reputation among my friends for constantly having threesomes. I’ve only had two, but I guess that’s still more than the average person? In any case, while I enjoyed myself both times, I still prefer the intense, focused connection of a standard one-on-one encounter. (Talk to me in a month, though… I have a rather epic threesome coming up on my calendar that might get me more on board with group sex.)
  14. When you’re sad, sometimes you just gotta feel your feelings. A couple of painful rejections left me in emotional shambles at times this year. I spent a lot of time crying on friends’ shoulders and saying things like, “I’m just so sad! I don’t know what to do!” My friends are fantastic and a lot of the advice they gave me boiled down to this: it’s okay to be sad when sad shit happens. Don’t try to run away from those feelings or distract yourself from them; just live in them for a while. It’s so much easier to move on when you’ve processed your feelings properly.
  15. You can like someone very, very much and they can still be wrong for you. You are not obligated to try to “make things work” with someone who’s a deeply bad match for you. Even if they’re a good person. Even if you adore them in many ways. Even if they don’t understand your reasoning.
  16. Platonic kink is a thing. I learned so much about kink this year, including that it can exist independently of sex. I have friends who fuel me by calling me a “good girl” when I finish my work; I have friends who phone me and speak to me in commanding, daddy-dom tones to calm me down when I’m anxious; I have friends whose kinks I know intimately and (consensually) use to guide them into healthier and happier behaviors. Kink is more than a sexual interest; it can be a psychological tool, a powerful motivator, a framework in which to understand yourself and your place in the world.
  17. Twitter is a great place to meet sexual partners. Half of the new people I banged at age 23 are folks I met on Twitter. Obviously it’s a problematic space and women receive a lot of harassment and abuse through tweets and DMs, but I’ve also built an audience there of clever, compassionate sex nerds, some of whom are pretty great sex partners.
  18. When you like someone, it’s okay to act like you like them. My anxiety makes this tricky, because even the smallest braveries feel like ballsy overtures to me. But I’m working on it. More people should know that they’re cute, and I should tell ’em.
  19. Don’t stake your mood on other people’s behavior. Most of my miserable-est days this year were the result of me believing, “If [person] would just [action], I could be happy right now.” I learned that I need to either change my expectations, or try to make things happen myself; waiting for someone else to read your mind and do what you want them to do is a fool’s errand.
  20. Anxiety-friends are invaluable flirting sherpas. This is no joke: I owe most of my romantic and sexual success this past year to Bex. Any time I didn’t know how to interpret a romantic interest’s flirty behavior, or couldn’t parse a cryptic text, or needed a push in a flirty direction, I went to them for advice. I have other “anxiety-friends,” too, who are willing and able to answer texts like, “[Person] said [thing], are they into me?!” and “What do I wear to a date-that-might-not-be-a-date?!”
  21. I like anal sex. I wasn’t sure how I’d feel about it, because my past adventures with butt plugs and anal beads had been inconsistently pleasurable. But, holy fuck, I was into it and I want to do it more.
  22. I don’t need (or want) monogamy, but I do need to feel special. I don’t mind having partners who have other partners. (Yay, #PolyLyfe and compersion!) But I do need my partners to make me feel valued, seen, and focused on when we spend time together. I received a few propositions this year from folks who date/bang a lot of people, and I learned that that only ever feels okay to me if they clearly like me for me – not because they like dating/banging whoever. I’m definitely not anti-promiscuity and there’s nothing wrong with being slutty! I just need a side order of emotional connection with my sluttiness.
  23. Life is too short for bad sex. I believe there are two main ways to be bad at sex: you can be bad at technical skills (“He kisses like a snake!” “Her fingering rhythm is inconsistent!”), and you can have a bad attitude about sex (“He refused to use toys on me!” “She got all sulky when she couldn’t get me off!”). I’d rather be with an enthusiastic newbie than a mopey pro any day. If you’re fun to bone, I’ll probably gladly teach you how I like to be fucked so you’ll know for next time – but if you’re a sad and draining lay, there probably won’t be a “next time.” I’ve raised my standards enough to say no to bad sex – because, frankly, I’d rather just masturbate.

 

Here’s to another sexy, educational year!