Musings

Is It Ever Okay to Fake Your Orgasms?

Kate Sloan

When I first got into feminism, sometime around age 14, I had loud, rigid opinions on everything.

“Women shouldn’t have to shave their legs!”

“Cunnilingus should be standard in all hetero sex!”

“No self-respecting woman would ever fake her orgasms!”

However, when I was 16, I started having sex, and the second time my new partner interacted with my genitals in any way, I… faked an orgasm.

I had my reasons (mostly nervousness and just wanting the awkward encounter to be over already), but I felt incredibly conflicted about the whole thing. Until a sex-positive, feminist friend of mine told me she faked a lot. And she liked it. That conversation blew my mind wide open and got me thinking about “the ethics of faking.”

Here are some of my thoughts on “good” and “bad” reasons to fake your orgasms. I’d love to hear whether you agree or disagree, and if you have other reasons to contribute to the list!

Bad reasons to fake:

• You don’t think you deserve real pleasure. (You do, love.)

• You don’t think you deserve to have a partner put in the time and effort required to give you real pleasure. (You do, love. Seriously.)

• You think you should be able to get off a certain way (e.g. from penetration alone), and that it would be embarrassing or unreasonable if you were to instruct your partner in what really gets you off. (Any partner worth their salt would love to learn how to make you happy. And if it happens to involve a kink they’re not into, well, it’s better to know that, so you can decide whether your incompatibility is a dealbreaker for either of you.)

• You know your partner gets off on your pleasure, and you want to give them that. (Okay, that’s very sweet, but if they like your pleasure, they like your real pleasure. And they’ll be upset when they inevitably find out you’ve been faking.)

Acceptable reasons to fake:

• You actually enjoy doing it. Putting on a show of faux pleasure actually induces real pleasure for you, much like smiling makes a person happier.

• You’re deliberately and knowingly play-acting/role-playing with a partner, and it’s assumed that there will be some “dramatization of events.”

• You’re in an unbalanced, perhaps abusive relationship in which it’s easier and safer to fake. (If this is the case, I wish you strength and luck and helpful resources to get you out of there, and I completely understand your decision. You gotta do what you gotta do to stay safe, end of story.)

I’m sure there are lots of other reasons that could go on either list, but those are the ones that come to mind for me. Have you ever faked? What was/were your reason(s)? Do you have any changes or additions you’d make to my lists?

Solid Sex Advice From My Grandmother

Kate Sloan

My Bubbie (Jewish grandmother) passed away a few years ago. She left me an assortment of things, from scarves to shoes to jewelry, but by far, the most enduring thing she left me was her advice.

I don’t think we ever talked about sex. We didn’t have that kind of relationship and she wasn’t that kind of person. But one piece of advice she gave me is extremely relevant to sex, whether or not she meant it to be.

Here’s what she told me: “You don’t ask, you don’t get.”

I most often heard her use this phrase in reference to beaurocratic processes: getting extra medical tests, nicer accommodations at a hotel, the right meal when the waiter brought you the wrong one, and so on. Her thinking was, it can’t hurt to ask. You might not get what you’re asking for, but you’ll be a lot likelier to get it than if you’d just stayed silent.

I think about this advice a lot, because it’s relevant almost constantly. I’m a shy person, not always skilled at advocating for myself or requesting the help I need. But I find, more often than not, that people are willing to help if you just make your desires known.

This comes up in sex all the damn time. Our cultural narratives tell us sex should be effortless and easy, and that if someone really loved you or was really good in bed, they’d be able to read your mind and give you what you want without you needing to ask.

Well, that’s nonsense. No one is a mind-reader, not even the Casanovas of the world. And while sexual chemistry can appear spontaneously with no effort required, it’s more often a collaborative creation: something you build with your partner through practice and, yes, communication.

If there’s something you want your partner to do, ask them. If they’re a decent person, the worst they can say is “No” – in which case, you’ll still be glad you asked, because at least now you know. And if they’re not a decent person, and they flip out at you or shame you, then you’ll know they aren’t worth one more millisecond of your time, and you can kick them out of your bed and your life with no hesitations.

All the best sexual adventures start with an idea and a little bravery. If you’ve already got your idea, then it’s time to be brave. Remember: you don’t ask, you don’t get!

Why Casual Sex is Brilliant (& Why I Wish I Was Having Some)

Kate Sloan

Because my first sexual relationship was with a friend and not a romantic partner, I’ve been asked plenty of times, “How do you separate love from sex like that?! I could never do that!”

This question used to make me nod thoughtfully and say things like, “Yeah, I can see why it could be difficult,” and “It’s a process, that’s for sure!”

Now, though, I just kinda… laugh. Because love and sex are soooo separate in my mind these days. Ever since my break-up last August, I feel an occasional pang of desire for emotional intimacy, cuddling, romantic dates, and declarations of adoration – but what I crave ceaselessly is sex. With or without love. Whatever. I just want it.

I have yet to have casual sex – my past dalliances with a friend-with-benefits were hardly “casual,” partly because we hung out all the damn time and partly because she was in love with me – but the idea of it glitters in my mind as the solution to countless sexual dilemmas. Here are some reasons why casual sex is a fucking terrific advent…

It’s fast. Truthfully, one of the reasons I ended my last relationship (aside from, y’know, just not feelin’ it anymore) was that I didn’t have the time or energy to invest in a romantic partner like I used to. Having a beau is a massive time commitment: dates, meandering conversations, ongoing negotiations, reassurances when needed, and so on. That stuff can be great when you’re able to put time into it, but when you’re not, casual sex is the better way to get your libidinal needs met.

It’s easy. At least, compared to wading through the sea of romantic options to find That One Person you click with on all the levels that matter in a relationship. Most people’s criteria for a casual sex partner are basically “Am I attracted to this person?” and “Can I stand to be around this person for short stretches of time?” Those requirements are pretty easy to meet. And the internet has made this process even simpler, by providing us with services like mysexhookups.com so we can get to the good stuff ASAP with minimal wasted time.

It’s shameless. Well… relatively. We all have some sexual shame to work through, because of our bullshit sex-negative culture. But I’d imagine it’s a lot easier to cop to your kinks when you know you’ll never see the person again. A long-term partner yucking your yum is a lot tougher to take; with a casual partner, if an incompatibility becomes clear, you can just say, “See ya! Onto the next.” And if they do share your kink? Then you’re probably in for some stellar sex.

Are you a casual sex devotee? Any tips for someone who’s new to this world (and kinda, maybe, extremely shy)?

This post was made possible by the folks at mysexhookups.com. Kisses!

You Do Not Have to Be “Fuckable” to Be Valuable

Kate Sloan

(Quick note: this post deals with body image, weight, food, exercise, and insecurity. If those topics are triggering or troublesome for you, I encourage you to skip this post. Take care of yourself!)

I’ve been struggling with body stuff a lot lately, and it’s not fun. Counting my calories alternately seems to keep me sane or make me want to tear all my hair out. Looking at my naked body in the mirror feels unbearable some days and totally neutral on other days. My feelings toward food oscillate from toxic resentment to pure sensual love. It’s… confusing.

When I have feelings that trouble me, on any subject, I always do my best to get to the root of them – to figure out where they’re coming from and what can be done about them. Like most people (especially most women), my relationship to food and exercise is about so much more than just food and exercise: it’s about gender, and self-worth, and past emotional traumas, and bone-deep insecurities. So there’s a lot of excavating to do if I want to work it all out. But I think I came up with an important insight recently, and I’d like to share it with you.

Women are socialized to understand our beauty as our most important feature. More important than our intelligence, humor, interests, professional pursuits, or even our sexual talents, our beauty is supposed to be our ongoing project and most crucial prize. Our total value as human beings is ascribed to our appearance, and that does a lot of damage.

I have internalized the idea that not only am I required to be beautiful (meaning: conventionally pretty and thin), but I am required to be beautiful all the time. Just look at the beginning of practically any fictional hetero romance: whether it takes place in a cheesy rom-com, a staid period drama, or a twisted YA novel, the “meet-cute” typically hinges on the woman looking pretty and the man noticing.

I’m an avid consumer of romantic storylines, so it’s no surprise that this trope got so deep into my head, I guess. But it sucks, because now I go through life with the sinking feeling that any moment spent looking less than beautiful is a moment wasted, an opportunity squandered. As much as my higher intellectual self tries to squash this irrational feeling, some part of me is still constantly wondering if the lover of my dreams is somewhere in my vicinity, and if, were they to see me right now, they’d be interested or just walk right by me.

It instills a scary desperation, a constant uncertainty. The last thing I ate becomes a statement on my entire morality. The time elapsed since my last workout defines what kind of love I deserve. My ability to attract the attention of some handsome suitor becomes the single most important measurement of my value as a human being.

Of course, I know this isn’t really true. I know there is more to me than my face and my body. I even know that I’m capable of love no matter what size I am, because I’ve dated at my fattest and at my thinnest and no one has ever run screaming out of the room at the sight of my naked body. Far from it: I’ve had my curves praised, lusted after, worshiped.

But I’m single now, and shy, and anxious, so the worries creep in. And the result has become all too clear in recent months: food has lost its joy for me, because it mostly makes me feel guilty; I exercise out of obligation instead of genuine desire; and my guard is always up when I’m out. What do these people think of me? Do I look good enough to be in public right now? Am I performing “beautiful femininity” well enough?

Well, fuck that shit. I am valuable whether or not I’m “fuckable” and so are you. No matter how much your silly brain might try to trip you up, the fact is that different people are attracted to different things and so if your hygiene is acceptable and you’re a basically pleasant person to be around, someone out there will be into you. Promise.

But, beyond that, it also has to be said that being loved romantically is not the most important thing in the universe. Sometimes I get so caught up in desperate romantic wishes that I forget about the love I already have in my life: family, friends, passions, excitements, even my love for myself (which does exist, somewhere under all the layers of self-criticism).

Sometimes I watch the way men interact, and the kinds of things they talk about, and I realize that men are valued – and value themselves – for who they are and what they do, not what kind of mate they can or cannot attract. I need to reject the patriarchal paradigm which says I am only as valuable as the number of dudes who want to get in my pants. I do so much cool shit and I am so smart, funny, kind, clever and delightful. That should be enough. That is enough.

It’s still a daily struggle to figure out how to live comfortably in my body without upsetting my mind (or vice versa), but these revelations have been helpful to me. I breathe a little easier knowing my fears are unfounded and silly.

Have you battled similar thoughts and concerns around body image or romantic/sexual desirability? How did/do you deal?

10 Reasons Everyone Should Own a Magic Wand

Kate Sloan

It’s strange when a legendary entity changes its name. It’s like that horrible moment in 2008 when I thought I was going to have to start calling Beyoncé “Sasha Fierce.” I mean… she’s Beyoncé. Come on.

That’s how I felt when one of the most famous sex toys in the known universe had its name changed from the Hitachi Magic Wand to simply the Magic Wand.

Of course, I still call it “the Hitachi” around other sex toy geeks. Just like how Prince’s friends probably still called him Prince even when he was using an unpronounceable symbol as his moniker. “Whatever, Prince,” they probably said to him before leaping into his swimming pool full of purple beachballs, or whatever the hell Prince’s friends do when they visit his house.

Anyway… Here are 10 reasons why owning a Hitachi – excuse me, Magic Wand – is imperative to your existence, regardless of what genitals you have or what kind of person you tend to fuck.

1. Let’s face it: it will probably make you come. This, of course, is why it’s endured as a sex toy legend for as long as it has: it simply creates more sensation than almost every other vibrator on the market. It’s ridiculously, appallingly strong. Hold it on your clit or your cock or maybe even your inner thigh or perineum or buttcheek and it’s quite likely you’ll get off in short order, or at least get quite turned on.

2. Clothing removal is not required. How many of your sex toys can you say that about? I can’t count the number of times I’ve whipped out my Magic Wand simply because I was too lazy to take off my pants, and it’s worked. It feels futuristic, ultra-convenient, too good to be true: an orgasm machine that causes minimal inconvenience. Yes, please.

3. It soothes sore muscles. Oh yeah, this is actually what it was designed to do. The quest for orgasm has led to the Magic Wand’s original purpose being bastardized, to the point that Hitachi divested itself of the property – but that doesn’t mean you can’t kick it old-school and use your Magic Wand on your actual, non-sexual muscles. Press it to your back, shoulders, neck, whatever, and feel the tension dissolve. Mmm.

4. It is the bomb dot com for period pains. I am using the phrase “period pains” in the most general sense here. Got cramps? Press the Magic Wand against your womb area until that clenching hellfire numbs out a little. Got overall aches and pains because periods are fucking miserable? Ditto: put the wand where you need it. Feel lethargic, sad, deadened, or otherwise in need of a mid-period pick-me-up? Wring an orgasm or two out of the wand and I am 87% sure you’ll feel better when you’re done. The Magic Wand is basically one big fuck-you to periods, which, hell yeah.

5. You can use it around the world. Well, anywhere there are working outlets, that is. Grab an outlet adaptor for wherever you’re visiting, or if you’re Europe-bound, pick up the UK version of the wand before you go. The wand may not be a suitcase space-saver, but if a customs agent rips apart your bag and lobs nosy questions at you in the security line, you can calmly tell him that the white and blue monster is for your “neck pain.” Haters gonna hate.

6. It’s basically a white noise machine. Okay, I’m not advocating that you leave your wand running all night while you sleep, unless fire hazards turn you on (no, seriously, don’t do this). But I am saying that if you ever feel weird about moaning into a silent room, the Magic Wand can sorta help with that. It gives you a baseline buzz to layer your sounds on top of, so you might feel a little more comfortable letting loose.

7. It breathes new life into non-vibrating toys. Should you ever get bored with a dildo or butt plug, or just want a little more stimulation, hold the head of the wand to the base of the toy while it’s inside you or your partner. Instant tooth-chattering rumbly action. You can even angle the wand in such a way that it stimulates the clit/balls/perineum while making the internal toy tremble, and that is a wondrous combo of sensations, lemme tell ya.

8. It is the forced orgasm prop. If your partner has a forced orgasm kink, there’s pretty much no better way to fulfill it than to tie them up and hold or strap a Magic Wand to their genitals until they’re begging for mercy. (Just make sure to remind them that they might need to yell their safeword a little louder than usual, should the session go that way. The wand takes up a fair bit of sonic real estate.)

9. It works well for medical play, too. I can see it now: your partner puts your legs in stirrups, murmurs “Now just relax, this is a totally routine examination,” snaps some latex gloves onto their hands, and lays out on the table in front of you: a bottle of lube, a speculum, and a Magic Wand. Uh, fuck yes. Sign me up.

10. It just might make you squirt. Legendary ejaculator Shannon Bell has been known to squirt with the assistance of a Magic Wand and an accompanying G-spot attachment. If your pressure-based attempts at female ejaculation have fallen flat, maybe jackhammer-esque vibration is the ticket instead. May as well give it a shot!

What’s your favorite way to use a Magic Wand?

This post was made possible by the lovely folks at MaxiWand.com!