Personal

Love Through a Voyeuristic Lens

Kate Sloan

In the age of the internet, it’s normal for our private lives to play out in public. In just a few clicks, you can peek into a beauty influencer’s medicine cabinet, peruse a sex toy blogger’s prized collection (hi), or visit voyeur house private cams where you can watch the life of real people. Not everyone is thrilled about all this openness and exhibitionism, but it’s undeniably part of our culture now.

So, as a sex writer and certifiable member of the Oversharers Club, it surprised me how private I was about my current relationship in its infancy. I talked about it in oblique terms on Twitter, and mentioned to a few friends that I’d been texting with a promising new dude who lived in New York, but for the most part, I wanted to hold those cards close to my chest. Our courtship happened primarily late at night via FaceTime and iMessage, encrypted end-to-end, cordoned off from the rest of our lives. It felt weird to bring it out into the open by talking about it too much – like someone throwing open the door of a darkened closet during a heated game of Seven Minutes in Heaven.

But because this private intimacy was shared between only me and my new crush, it felt almost like it didn’t really exist – like it could be a mirage, a hallucination, a midnight fever-dream. It brought me back to my early days on the internet, when I’d build elaborate romances with strangers in IRC chats and then just go to school the next day like nothing had happened, like nothing had changed. Even as we escalated to using weightier words for each other – partner, boyfriend and girlfriend – still, part of me felt like: here is my “real life,” and here is this relationship, and scarcely the twain shall meet.

So it was quite a jolt the first time my new love – Matt – came to visit me in Toronto. Seeing him in familiar locales, like my bedroom, my parents’ living room, and the coffee shop I go to every week, was as jarring as a bad green-screen sequence in a low-budget movie. How could such a cute, sweet person, who had taken on an almost mythical quality in my mind, exist in the world at all, let alone in my life? I felt like Rob Gordon, the antihero of High Fidelity, when he looks up his long-lost college girlfriend: “She’s in the fucking phone book! She should be living on Neptune. She’s an extraterrestrial, a ghost, a myth, not a person in a phone book!”

He met my family. He met my friends. I took him to my birthday party. But none of it quite felt real – until, shortly after leaving the party, I got a text from my friend Suz, who had left at the same time as us. “Okay, so, creepiest thing I have ever done,” she wrote, “but when we departed at the subway, I could see y’all from the other side. You both looked so in love, so I took some creepy stealth pics for you.”

Matt and I giggled over the photos, crowing “We’re so cute!” and zooming in to examine our amorous body language. Something clicked. Seeing my relationship from the outside allowed me to believe in it from the inside. I felt validated: Yes, he really exists; yes, he really is that cute; yes, he really loves me! Some part of me had been continually nervous that he would evaporate somehow, that I would wake up from the dream or forget to save my game, and he would be gone. But there he was, in a handful of .jpegs, flirting with me on a Toronto subway platform, irrefutable.

Feeling observed in a feeling can make that feeling all the more palpable. Maggie Nelson writes about it in Bluets: “We sometimes weep in front of a mirror not to inflame self-pity, but because we want to feel witnessed in our despair.” Beauty vloggers know this, as do reality TV stars, theatre actors, Instagram influencers, exhibitionists and voyeurs. Like Schrodinger’s cat, sometimes it is the very act of seeing that heralds the seen object into existence. My relationship would have been real with or without spectators, of course – but my rock-solid, comfortable, life-affirming belief in that relationship? Maybe not so much.

 

This post was sponsored. As always, all writing and opinions are my own. Thank you to Suz for the photos; we love them!

Date Diaries: Towers, Oysters, & Amorous Nights

Kate Sloan

Hi! Welcome to something new I’m trying, Date Diaries, a feature where I’ll write about dates I go on. I’m revisiting a week I spent with my partner in Toronto back in December, for our first anniversary…

On Matt’s first night back in town, I went to meet him at the airport, which has become a tradition for us. We have a protocol whereby I have to ask him, prior to his takeoff, what he’d like me to bring him at the airport – food, gum, coffee, whatever – and then meet him in the arrivals area. It’s exciting, getting to see him at the earliest possible moment, rather than waiting for him to Uber to my apartment like I used to.

On this day – December 12th – I subwayed across town to Pearson Airport in the west end from a psychiatrist appointment in the east end, trying to read my Kindle on the train but failing because I was too excited to concentrate. Once we found each other in arrivals, we took a car back to my place, ~reconnected~ with some sex-‘n’-kink, and then were faced with the question of where to go for dinner.

This always happens. Usually he gets in late, because air travel is a chaotic nightmare, and by the time we’re settled and ready to eat, many restaurants have closed their kitchens. So it’s become a tradition of sorts for us to go to Bar Isabel on those first Toronto nights, because their kitchen is open until at least midnight (bless them, bless them all). It’s one of the best-reviewed restaurants in the city, and for good reason: the ambiance is chill and romantic, the tapas-style menu is impeccable, the cocktails are swell, and the servers are top-notch.

As the clock ticked over to 12:00AM of the next day – December 13th, our anniversary – I tweeted about how happy I was to have spent a year with such a wonderful person, and we toasted to our relationship, our love, and our future. Aww.

What I wore: I was feeling romantic so I put on the dress I was wearing the day that we met, one year previous. It’s a black and red floral-print fit-and-flare dress I got at H&M god knows how many years ago. I also wore my collar, of course.

What we ordered: We usually get the punch when we go to Bar Isabel; I think this time we got the “fancy punch,” which contains liquors, citruses, teas, herbs, and bubbly wine (they change up the specific ingredients on a night-to-night basis), because we were celebrating! We ate oysters, bread, manchego cheese, shishito peppers, and grilled octopus. Divine.

My boyf is an over-the-top romantic, making him a good match for someone like me who is sentimental as fuck and also likes to write about dates she goes on (hiii). For our anniversary, he surprised me by taking me to one of the fanciest and most tourist-y places you can go for dinner in Toronto: the 360 Restaurant at the top of the CN Tower. As we were walking to the elevator that would take us up to the restaurant, we were bustled into a photography area where they snapped some cheesy pictures of us in front of a green screen – hence the adorable watermarked monstrosity you see above.

The whole conceit of the 360 Restaurant is that you get the best possible view of Toronto, and the entire restaurant rotates slowly, so you get to see all the way around over the course of your meal. I hadn’t been up there since my mom took me to an opening-night party for The Lion King back when she was working as an entertainment reporter more than a decade ago, so it was cool to go back, especially with someone I love so much.

After dinner, we checked out the famous glass floor and then cabbed to Civil Liberties for a nightcap before heading home. Ideal date night!

What I wore: Sir told me weeks beforehand that if I planned on buying a new dress for our anniversary, he wanted it to be blue and shiny/sparkly in some way – which, honestly, knowing me, it would’ve been anyway. I trawled the local mall all day, trying on several unsatisfactory contenders, before finally landing on this $17 pale blue velvet spaghetti-strap dress from Forever 21. I wore it with black tights, my collar, a black cashmere cardigan, and the gorgeous blue Coach bag Matt had just given me as an anniversary gift. The suit he’s wearing, by the way, is the same one he wore on our second date; aww.

What we ordered: We split a dozen oysters and I thiiink I had roasted salmon with risotto on the side. And, as per usual, we drank excellent cocktails, though I can’t remember what they were. I was pretty focused on the cute boy across the table from me!

Sir introduced me to La Banane and it’s become one of our favorite Toronto dinner spots. The food and service are both absolutely incredible. I feel like a queen every time we go here.

After dinner, we rounded out our evening by going to see Hook-Up at the Bad Dog Theatre (their hilarious and often quite romantic runaway hit) and stopping by Civil Liberties again for more cocktails. Three of our very favorite things in one night – amazing!

What I wore: This dress is one of Sir’s faves in my wardrobe so he chose it for our fancy night out; it’s a form-fitting, low-cut, navy velvet dress with an asymmetric hem. I bought it at Forever 21 when I briefly had a sugar daddy, envisioning wearing it on elegant dates with him, though that plan never came to pass! This time I paired it with black tights, a black cashmere cardigan, my collar, and my new Coach bag again.

What we ordered: Our appetizers were oysters again (we’re so predictable) and seared foie gras with hazelnuts and a little cup of wine on the side. I had their duck breast entrée (soooo tender and good) and Sir had the Eurobass. My fave cocktail here is the Penicillin; I don’t normally like smoky Scotch but this drink blends it with lemon, ginger, and honey, making it much more palatable. Toward the end of the meal, the restaurant staff had to re-seat us to make room for a big group that was coming in, and they sent over two glasses of amaro on the house for our trouble (my first time ever trying amaro!). Sooo fuckin’ classy.

Been on any date you’ve especially loved lately?

Roleplay and Rapport at the Library Bar

Kate Sloan

Maybe I shouldn’t have arrived so early. Why do I always do this? I glance over my shoulder at the door again. Maybe he’ll show up in five minutes. Maybe he’ll show up now.

I always get nervous before interviews, even though I’ve been doing the whole professional-sex-journalist thing for going-on-7 years now. It’s just stagefright, harmless jitters, but it happens like clockwork. It’s why I rolled up to the Library Bar 10 minutes early. It’s why I keep sneaking peeks at the door.

Is that him? He’s wearing a dark button-down shirt. He’s looking my way. He’s smiling and waving. (He is my partner.) He’s coming over to sit next to me. (He is my partner.) He’s shaking my hand and saying, “Hi, I’m Matt.” (I know who he is. He is my partner.)

Let me back up for a second. Months ago, when discussing potential roleplay scenarios, my boyfriend and I struck upon the idea of a journalist/source roleplay. I am a journalist, after all, and he is a semi-frequent media interviewee, being a tech fancyboy in New York, so we’re already comfortable in these roles.

Initially we envisioned it as a scene of strategic outsmarting, psychological manipulation, me trying to get info out of him for an investigative exposé and him trying to keep me at arm’s length. But the more we thought about it and discussed it, the more we wanted it to be a different type of scene entirely. We still wanted to play ourselves – me, a reporter; him, a tech CEO – but our focus shifted more toward the flirtation and chemistry that could naturally develop during an interview.

Storytelling dynamo Claire AH has talked often about how roleplay – which she calls “sexy improv” – can be an opportunity to explore ways you and your partner didn’t meet, but could’ve. She sometimes envisions, for example, having met her musician husband by being a groupie of his band, rather than on OkCupid. I love this idea, and how it allows you to re-access a state of charged unfamiliarity with your partner, flirting in double entendres and meaningful glances in ways you can’t do as readily when you’ve been dating for months or years.

Having defined our goals for the scene, BF and I started emailing back and forth, the way we would if we were actually setting up an interview with a stranger. My character needed to speak to an app developer for a story – and his character, it so happened, would be in Toronto for a “conference” soon. We settled on a day, time, and location. I started prepping my questions. It all began feeling very real.

Back to the Library Bar. “Hi, I’m Matt,” this ridiculously handsome man says, grabbing my hand in a firm, CEO-appropriate handshake. “I’m Kate,” I reply. “Nice to finally meet you!”

He sits down next to me at the bar. (Was the bar the right spot to choose? Is it more professional to sit opposite a source, at a table?) He asks me what I’m drinking. (A Bulleit bourbon on the rocks. One of my fave orders when I’m trying to impress a dude who probably knows more than me about such things.) He orders an old fashioned. We small-talk about how he’s enjoying Toronto, what he’s been up to, what he thinks of his hotel.

Then he asks me what my piece is about, and I brighten. “So… It’s for Playboy. Ever heard of it?”

He laughs. “I only read it for the articles.”

“Well, great, ’cause I’m writing one of those articles! It’s about how I think nerds are better in bed.” I watch his eyes widen. We didn’t discuss this in our pre-interview emails. Sometimes I prefer to take sources by surprise. “I spoke to a web dev; I spoke to a game dev; I needed to speak to an app dev. So, thanks for agreeing to talk to me!” He is immediately on board, engaged and listening hard. I flip open my notebook to my list of questions. I begin.

“Do you think nerds are, on average, better in bed?” “Which subsets of the tech community do you think would be especially sexually skilled?” “What sexual acts do you think programmers would tend to be good at?”

His answers are measured, thoughtful, yet enthusiastic and off-the-cuff. He posits theories, tells stories from his own life, and cites thinkers he admires, like Michael Lopp and Evie Lupine. His blue eyes flash with intelligence and wit. Occasionally, when I ask him something, he gives me this pure-of-heart little smirk and says, “Good question!” I wonder if he can see how much it melts me when he compliments my competence, even though I’m a grown-ass journalist who knows her shit and knows her worth.

The thing about being a sex writer is, there will be opportunities for interviews to get flirty. In 99% of cases, I neither want this outcome nor think it’s smart to pursue it; it’s unprofessional, usually unwanted (by one or both parties), skews the story, and can get messy.

But this app mogul on the barstool next to me is… very cute. And he has been essentially selling himself to me as a promising hookup for the past hour. And he keeps reaching out to gently shove my shoulder to make a point, or holding my gaze a little too long while describing skilful fingerbanging. At one point he loses his train of thought mid-sentence and says, “Sorry, that dress is just… really good.” It’s a new one, vintage Betsey Johnson. “It’s kind of a ‘professional reporter lady’ dress,” I say, blushing, and he shoots back, “More like a ‘turning on a source’ dress. Wow.” I laugh and hide my warm face behind one shy hand.

I’ve asked all my questions, taken all my notes, and closed my notebook. “Want to get another drink, now that you’re off the clock?” he offers, so easily, and we order two more cocktails from the busy bartender. Flipping the script, this articulate interviewee asks me about my work – what I like about it, what I don’t – and I mention, in passing, that it can get complicated when a source wants to fuck me and I’m not into it. Or when I want to fuck a source, but my editor isn’t into it. “So is this the type of assignment where you might sleep with a source, or no?” he asks innocently, and I practically choke on my drink.

As the alcohol plies us further, we get to talking about FetLife: neither of us use it much, and he knows some nerds who are trying to build a better alternative. “What’s on your fetishes list?” he wonders, and I wrack my brain for the answer least likely to freak out this near-stranger. “Uhh, spanking?” I try, and he bites his lip like a sadistic Cheshire cat. “I actually have some impact implements up in my hotel room,” he mentions, so casually, and that room is now the only place I want to be.

He offers me a sip of his martini. “Ooh, that’s a daddy drink,” I say when I try it. “What does that mean?!” he asks with a quizzical smile. “Oh, you know, like something a daddy would drink.” I hide behind my glass when he intuits effortlessly, “Oh, so you’re into DD/lg, then.”

He’s getting closer and closer to me, as we’re getting tipsier and flirtier and farther off the path of our initial conversation. He’s got his arm draped over the back of my chair, and is gazing into my eyes like nobody else in this crowded bar exists. I lose my words, lose my breath. “Kiss me,” he says, out of nowhere, and I do, because I need to.

At some point we decide that yes, I will go up to his room with him – and I will disclose this key information to my editor when I file the story. We settle up and amble to the elevator. Inside, he pushes me against a wall and kisses me, like he’s wanted to do that ever since he first saw me from across the bar.

If you’re interested in trying a roleplay like this – in person, out in public, pretending not to know each other – here are some tips I took away from our first attempt that I think might be useful to you too:

• Define your intentions. As with any kink endeavor, it’s good to make sure you and your partner are hoping to get something similar out of the scene, or at least that your hopes for the scene are compatible. My partner and I are both into flirting, and knowing that that was the primary intention of our roleplay allowed us to focus on that aspect fully and enjoy it even more.

• Set the stage. Whatever the scenario you choose for your roleplay – meeting someone new at a bar; striking up a convo with the stranger beside you at the theatre; going on a first Tinder date – prepare for that situation however you normally would. It’ll help get you into the appropriate headspace. For this roleplay, for example, my partner and I exchanged businessy emails weeks beforehand, and I prepped and researched just as I would for an actual interview.

• Dress the part. Clothes and other self-presentation details can help you get into character, even if your “character” is just an alternate-universe version of yourself. This can be especially helpful if you and your partner hang out earlier in the day and then go do a roleplay; my partner changed his shirt before our interview, for example, and it was a small thing that nonetheless made him feel like a slightly different person to me. You can also change stuff like your perfume, jewelry, and hairstyle, to set your character apart from your regular self.

• Do something, dammit. Decide on a concrete task or interaction that the roleplay will center around; don’t just show up at the location and stand around awkwardly. Our roleplay hinged on an interview, and I did an actual interview, because I knew it would make me less nervous and would lend some purpose and direction to the scene. Even if your roleplay is pretty straightforward, like a chance meeting with a cute stranger at a bar, have some idea of what you want to do: bring a book to read, or have a specific drink you want to try, or a specific occasion your character is celebrating, or something.

• Commit to the scene. The #1 question I got from my Twitter followers about this roleplay was essentially, “How do you stay in character?” and the answer is… just decide to stay in character. As with dirty talk – not to mention improv, which roleplay essentially is! – you will actually seem (and feel) sillier if you half-ass it. Hopefully your partner is someone you trust not to laugh at you for wholeheartedly throwing yourself into the scene – because if that’s all they want to do, why do the roleplay at all?!

• Making mistakes is okay. A few times during our roleplay, my partner and I accidentally referenced some of our real-life inside jokes, or responded to things how we ourselves – but not our “characters” – would respond. Slip-ups are bound to happen, especially if you’re not accustomed to this type of improvisation. That’s fine. There is nothing wrong with laughing for a moment at the mistake you’ve made and then moving on with the scene. The entire narrative doesn’t have to fall apart just because you screwed up for a second.

• Debrief and discuss afterward. You should do this when you try any new kink activity. Talk about what went wrong, what went right, what you want more of in the future, and what you want less of. Talk about what was hot, what felt weird, what surprised you. My partner and I have already figured out some other roleplay scenarios we want to try in public, having learned more about our desires and fantasies from this first one. This experience has opened up a whole new avenue of play for us, and we can only continue further down this path because we’ve thoroughly compared notes about this first scene.

Have you ever done a roleplay like this before? Would you like to?

Sextistics: An End-of-Year Sexual Stats Breakdown (2018)

Kate Sloan

Happy new year, friends! I hope your New Year’s Eve was lovely and that your 2019 brings exciting experiences, sweet comforts, big laughs, and as much (or as little) sex as you would like.

As you probably already know if you’ve been following me for a while, I keep a sex spreadsheet. It’s nerdy, yes – but it’s also endlessly useful for me as a sex writer, when I need to refer back to the facts of an encounter I’m writing about. Not to mention, it helps me reflect on what works and doesn’t work for me sexually, so I can make better decisions for myself going forward.

Lots of folks have been inquiring about my spreadsheet lately in my email and DMs, as it’s the time of year to start on such things if you are inclined to – so here’s all I’ve written about it so far in one handy-dandy list:

  • My original blog post about it explains some reasons you might want to keep a sex spreadsheet, and gives some tips for making your own.
  • Last year I wrote a piece for Glamour about it, too, which goes into detail about what I learned from my 2017 spreadsheet and what I planned to change about my sex life going forward.
  • Here’s a Twitter thread in which I talk about not only my sex spreadsheet but also the spreadsheets I kept of my orgasms and first dates in 2017. There are screenshots!
  • Here’s my Sextistics post from last year, where I listed a bunch of stats and findings from my 2017 spreadsheets.
  • Incase you need it, here’s a blank template of my spreadsheet which you can adapt for your own purposes. But honestly, I think building one for your exact needs is part of the geeky joy of this endeavor!

Okay, now that you know why and how I keep sex stats, let’s get into the stats themselves! Time to crunch some numbers…

Overview

  • In 2018, I had partnered sex 147 times. That works out to an average of 12.25 times per month, 2.83 times per week, and 0.40 per day. (This is particularly wild if you know that 92.52% of the sex I had this year was with my long-distance partner, who I only see for a few days each month.)
  • I had 144 orgasms from partnered sex.
  • Meanwhile, my partners had a total of 154 orgasms during sex with me. (Look, I’m not saying my blowjobs are legendary, but…)
  • An incomplete list, in alphabetical order, of the kink activities I incorporated into partnered sex this year: biting, bondage, bootblacking, choking/gagging, DD/lg roleplay, electrostimulation, face-slapping, facials, fisting (attempted), gloryholes, human furniture play, hypnosis, intoxication, kicking, knife play, medical roleplay, pegging, punching, sadomasochism, scratching, sensory deprivation, spanking, squirting, tickling, trampling, watersports, wax play.

Compared to Last Year…

  • I had 79.26% more sex.
  • I had an orgasm in 97.96% of the sex I had, versus 93.90% last year.
  • I had 76.92% fewer partners!

Partners

  • I had a total of 3 sexual partners this year: my current boyfriend, a former romantic partner, and a friend with benefits. This is a pretty significant drop from previous years (13 in 2017, 12 in 2016). Just wasn’t feelin’ slutty this year, I guess.
  • One of those partners (33.33%) was a new addition this year, bringing my total number of lifetime partners up to 30 (that’s a 3.45% increase from this time last year).
  • I met one of those partners on Twitter, one via a podcast interview, and one at our former mutual workplace – all in 2017.
  • The percentage of times each partner gave me an orgasm range from 50.00% to 101.47%. Predictably, since comfort and familiarity are important factors in my sexual enjoyment, the more sex I had with a person this year, the higher their frequency of giving me orgasms became.
  • My partners this year were, on average, 7 years older than me (up from 5.6 years older last year) – though, notably, the person I had the most sex with and who gave me the most orgasms is only 1.33 years older than me.
  • 66.67% of my partners this year were cis men and the other 33.33% was a non-binary person.
  • Astrologically speaking (!), 66.67% of my partners this year were fellow earth signs (one Taurus, one Capricorn). The third was a Scorpio.

Locations

  • I had sex in a total of 12 different locations this year.
  • These included: my place, my parents’ place (once!), a partner’s place, a sex club, and 8 different hotels (5 in New York, 1 in Alexandria, 1 in Boston, 1 in Toronto).
  • The locations likeliest to facilitate orgasm for me were: the Standard High Line hotel in New York (150.00%), the Ace Hotel in New York (116.67%), the Godfrey Hotel in Boston (114.29%), my own home (106.17%), and the Hilton Mark Center hotel in Alexandria (100.00%).
  • The locations least likely to facilitate orgasm for me were: a sex club (50.00%) and a former partner’s place (50.00%).

Highs and Lows

  • My most sexually active month was December (33 times), because I was able to spend more time than ever with my long-distance partner (a week in Toronto, a long weekend in New York). We’re still not quite sure how we fit 33 sex sessions into 11 days together, but okay.
  • My least sexually active month was February (6 times) because it was one of my shortest visits with my partner.
  • I had the most partnered orgasms in December (31) and the fewest in January and February (6 each). This just makes sense, given that people get better at getting me off the better they know me and my body.
  • The highest number of times I had sex in one day was 5, because, uh, sometimes my partner and I go a bit overboard when we haven’t seen each other in a while and finally get to be together. Hilariously, the day that this happened was 4/20, but we weren’t even high!
  • The most orgasms I had in a partnered sex session was 2 (this happened 10 times throughout the year – yay), which might not seem like a lot for some of you, but is pretty impressive for my relatively mono-orgasmic body.

Correlations

  • The sex acts most highly correlated with orgasm for me were using a vibe on my clit while a partner fingerbanged me (56 times), using a vibe on my clit while a partner fucked me with a dildo (53), and receiving oral sex while being fingerbanged (24).
  • Less common ways I got off were using my fingers on my clit while a partner fingerbanged me (9 times) and using my fingers on my clit while a partner’s dick was inside me (only once this year!).
  • Common reasons I didn’t come at all (which happened 13 times) were: I was sick/tired, the location of the encounter made me feel self-conscious or uncomfortable, or I was more focused on getting my partner off.
  • I’ve noticed connections between my income and my sexual activity in previous years. This year, my highest-income month was indeed also my most sexually active month (December), and one of my lowest-income months was also one of my fewest-orgasms months (October), which suggests to me that perhaps financial anxiety inhibits pleasure, and financial security makes good sex more accessible to me, both physically/logistically (airfare and hotels are expensive!) and emotionally/mentally.

Toys

  • My most-used vibrators with partners were the Magic Wand Rechargeable (46 times), Doxy #3 (30), We-Vibe Tango (21), and Eroscillator (20). What these all have in common is that they’re rumbly and can reliably get me off (although the Doxy #3 has tons of mechanical problems so the word “reliable” is a bit of a stretch).
  • My most-used dildos with partners were the Njoy Eleven (18 times), Fucking Sculptures Corkscrew (18), Fucking Sculptures Double Trouble (13), and Vixen Creations Randy (2). Using dildos with partners was a less frequent occurrence for me this year than it often has been, likely because I was fucking people who are highly skilled with their fingers.
  • My most-used impact implements with partners were my Weal & Breech purpleheart truncheon (7 times), Kronic Sensations wooden bat (4), Weal & Breech purpleheart paddle (4), Viktoria Creations leather bat (4), and Weal & Breech purpleheart mallet (3).
  • Frequently-used toys in other categories were my under-the-bed restraints (7 times), Aslan Leather harness paired with Godemiche Ambit for pegging (7), a blindfold (4), and the Neon Wand (3).

Did you keep a sex spreadsheet this year? Do you plan to try it out in 2019?

12 Days of Girly Juice 2018: 2 Fears Defeated

Kate Sloan

I’ve conquered a lot of fears in the past few years, or at least attempted to. Hell, life with an anxiety disorder is basically just a long process of battling fears, like walking through a brambly underbrush with a machete in each hand. In 2015 I upped my blowjob game and delved into threesomes; in 2016 I fucked on camera and navigated casual sex; and last year I explored polyamory more deeply and got better at tactful rejection. That’s a whole lotta scary things, and I’m proud of myself!

Here are two things I’d previously feared, that I managed to face head-on in 2018…

Long-distance relationships

I swore, when I was younger, that I would never fuck with an LDR. “I need a lot of attention and physical affection,” I reasoned, “and that just isn’t practical if the person lives far away.” What I had neglected to plan for, however, is that sometimes you fall in love with a geographically distant person even if you had planned not to – and that distance does not have to preclude the exchange of attention and affection.

Knowing full well about the hurdles long-distance couples face, my partner and I approached our relationship with thoughtfulness and intentionality. We built systems and routines that helped bolster our burgeoning intimacy: good-morning texts, near-nightly phone conversations, FaceTime calls whenever convenient, selfies and tweets and emails. We crafted a sex life from sexting and phone sex (more on that in a sec) that feels as real, enjoyable, and important to me as any in-person sexual connection I’ve ever had. We made it clear to each other, day by day by day, that we are committed to making this relationship work and making it last. We look for new ways to do that all the time.

We’re also deeply privileged to live not terribly far from each other – a 90-minute flight or an ~11-hour bus ride – and to be able to afford to see each other about once a month. It’s funny: when we first started dating, we agreed that 2 months was about the maximum amount of time we’d ever want to go without seeing each other, but we’ve never actually waited that long. The longest we’ve spent apart at a time is about 5 weeks, but we average around 3 weeks between each visit. Sometimes it’s hard, but it’s always doable.

Ultimately I’ve come to realize that long-distance relationships – if they’re as conscientiously intimate as this one – may actually be better suited to how my brain works than local ones, in some ways. I’m an easily-overwhelmed introvert, so being able to talk to my partner while pajama-clad in my bed at the end of the day is often preferable to, say, going out for drinks or schlepping my stuff to someone’s house in the cold. When a local partner is too busy to see me for a while, my anxious brain takes it as a personal affront – but somehow it still feels like a treat every time my long-distance partner spends time with me over the phone. Our in-person visits give me something to look forward to, like a life preserver to cling onto when I feel depressed, and also give me motivation to deep-clean my room at least once a month. It’s pretty ideal, actually.

I’m not saying long-distance relationships are something I’ll continue to look for in the future – it’s my hope that they’ll be a rare exception in my life, rather than a commonplace thing – but I’m not nearly as put off by the prospect of them as I used to be. And that’s nice, because it means more opportunities for love, sex, kink, and joy are open to me now, all around the world.

Phone sex

Another thing I thought I’d never like! Weird.

When I was a teen, my beloved friend-with-benefits would sometimes call me up and read erotic Harry Potter fanfiction to me over the phone. If I got turned on enough, occasionally I would touch myself while she breathed these fanciful words into my ear. I liked listening to her struggle to get through each sentence while straining to hear the changes in my breathing, the slide of skin against wet skin.

That was my only experience resembling phone sex, until about 9 years later, when a prospective sugar daddy emailed me asking if he could pay me for the pleasure of my company over the phone. The price was right and he was charming as hell, so we fell into a pay-to-play arrangement that culminated in a couple nights of him whispering filthy things to me while I moaned and purred and held a vibe on my clit.

I had always imagined that phone sex would require an equal give-and-take, a 50:50 exchange of dirty words and ideas back and forth, and indeed, I’m sure that this is how it works for many people. But I am a bottom, and a sub, and I go pretty nonverbal when subspace kicks in, so I knew I wouldn’t be well-suited to talk someone to orgasm. What I had overlooked, though, is that lots of tops and doms prefer to be the person driving the action, not only in person but over the phone too. That’s what my sugar daddy was into, and when I started dating my current boyfriend, I discovered that he was into it, too. He calls himself a “phone-sex top”: someone who says most of the shit and is more than happy to do so. It’s my reactions he gets off on: my moans, my squeals, my subspacily slurred responses to his questions. In this regard (and several others), we are perfectly well-matched.

It’s funny how I went from abhorring the idea of phone sex to it being easily 80% (or more) of my sex life this year. It’s a near-daily routine for us now, and as such, we’ve developed our own patterns, techniques, tropes and styles within our phone play, which you can read about in the interview series we did about it. Just like in-person sex with a consistent partner, our phone sex gets better and better the more that we learn about each other, and strives for a balance between reliable old favorites and exciting new explorations. It makes me so happy and doesn’t feel, at all, like a consolation prize for the “real thing.” Phone sex with my partner is real, deep, romantic, exciting, and a wonderful comfort.

What fears did you overcome this year?