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No-Shave November Made Me Think About Femininity

Kate Sloan

I did No-Shave November this year. Not to raise money for anything (although I did contribute some dough to a family member’s Movember collection, in awe of his new beard). I just wanted to give it a shot.

I’ve been a pretty consistently clean-shaven lass ever since puberty. Ever the precocious child (and an early bloomer, hormones-wise), I wanted to know what shaving was like, so I started shaving the hair on my legs and pelvic mound almost immediately after it first came in. I have a vivid memory of my mom spotting my shaved mons in the bath (so I must’ve still been young enough that my mom was bathing me?!) and her saying disapprovingly, “That’s something adult ladies do.” But still, I continued to shave.

Like every girl, I was ushered into a world of brainwashed, media-hyped, sweet-and-sanitized femininity. There were no hairy-lady role models in my life, sexy or otherwise. As I grew into adolescence, the girls at my school became increasingly mean and judgmental, as middle-school girls are wont to do, and I never dared deviate from any norm for fear of social ostracization (which, sadly, happened anyway).

Throughout my first sexual relationship, I kept my pubes and pits shaved. My partner went through a phase where she was desperately curious to know what it would be like to go down on a bushy twat, but I would not grant her that favor. I found pubes insufferably itchy and they also noticeably cut down on my sexual sensitivity.

My second (and current) partner was surprised the first time he put his hand in my panties, having never encountered a hairless lady-garden before. This, in turn, surprised me when he told me later. I had thought of shaved pussies as the norm until then, perhaps due to the porn I sometimes watched.

These days, I’m hanging out in a lot of queer and feminist spaces, as usual, and these are the sort of environments where body hair is accepted and sometimes even encouraged. But even still, I tuck my legs under me to hide their stubble; I keep my cardigan buttoned so no one will see my fuzzy pits. Though I purposely fill my head with hairy-lady inspiration (Amanda Palmer and Sadie Lune, for example), I still feel… well, dysphoria isn’t quite the right word, but perhaps what I feel is a very mild form of it.

And the trouble is, I don’t know whether my feelings are media-influenced or whether my particular brand of girly/femme-y gender identity just doesn’t mesh with body hair. How can anyone ever know whether their feelings are culturally induced or personally valid or both?

During No-Shave November, I also grew out my bush, though I kept my labia shaved because they really do itch horribly when I let ‘em run wild. My partner has no qualms about any body hair configuration I choose – he always finds nice things to say about my body, no matter how much fur it has amassed or is missing – so that didn’t influence my decision. I grew out the longest bush I’ve ever had and spent a lot of time combing it with my fingers, marveling at how weird and unusual it felt in the context of my own body.

Ultimately, on December 2nd, after snapping the photos used in this post in my bathroom mirror, I shaved my pits. And then, earlier this week, I attacked my bush with scissors and then a razor. The smoothness feels odd after all this hairiness but it’s also reassuring; I feel more like me again. I don’t feel more attractive; I just feel less weird.

What’s your relationship to body hair?

Where I Keep My Sex Toys

Kate Sloan

I’ve written about my sex toy storage situation before, but that was over a year ago and a lot has changed. My collection has grown significantly bigger, to the point that I had to pick up an additional small set of drawers at Ikea to keep it all in.

I will warn you right now that these pictures are MESSY. I have no discipline for neatness! But at least the system is functional: I can always find what I’m looking for.

This is the top drawer of my plastic set of drawers. It contains favorites that I reach for often: my Patchy Paul, Lelo Siri, VixSkin Mustang, NobEssence Fling, Pure Wand, Acute, and a few others. The Sqweel is in there, not because I use it a ton, but because when I’m craving it, I want it immediately.

This next drawer is chaotic as hell. It contains all my Kegel toys and anal toys, plus lube samples, bullet vibes, and a huge amount of toy-cleaning wipes left over from the days when I used to receive stuff from an unethical sex shop that shall not be named.

Some of the few toys you can actually see in this photo: the Magic Banana, small Ripple, Eclipse balls, and Icicles no. 26. You’ll notice that most of the silicone ones are wrapped in plastic bags – that’s to prevent them from gathering lint.

The next drawer is a large one, so I use it for one of the most well-represented categories in my sex toy collection: silicone dildos. On top, you can see the Maverick, Curve, Raquel, Leoweenie, and El Diablo. There are several more layers of dildos beneath those.

Again, I mostly keep these wrapped in plastic bags to prevent lint from getting all over them (and to keep the lower-quality ones from potentially melting into each other). I keep some of my VixSkin toys in their original plastic tubes, because they’re kind of cool, but it’s not the most practical solution because of how much space it takes up.

The bottom drawer of my plastic set isn’t pictured, because it’s currently jammed and won’t open up all the way (?), but incase you were wondering, it contains condoms, porn DVDs, and some naked Instax photos of my friends and I.

Over to the metal set of drawers. The top one is for vibrators I don’t use very often, if at all. You can see the Stronic Eins (which should probably be upgraded to my “favorites” drawer, honestly), LayaSpot, Personal Pleasurizer, Ocean, Turbo Glider, and Iconic Rabbit. There are also lots of Lelo vibes in there that are in their storage bags, like the Gigi, Gigi 2, and Lyla 2.

The next drawer is for dildos made of unusual (i.e. non-silicone) materials. For example, I’ve got the glass Amethyst and Large Smiley, some wood toys by Knotty Wood Arts, the aluminum Revolve, the ceramic Pleasure, and the stainless steel Fun Wand. These are all toys that I don’t use very often, but it’s nice to pull them out every once in a while.

The next drawer is supposed to be for harnesses and anything else I might need for strap-on play. In this photo, all that’s in there is my RodeoH harness and the paraphernalia that came with it, but soon I’ll be keeping my new Bend Over Beginner kit in there too. (I also have a dream that one day I will own an Aslan Jaguar, but for now, no such luck!)

This drawer is for men’s toys (and a random We-Vibe charger?), the Fleshlight STU and VerSpanken. My boyfriend recently moved into a new living situation that’s got more privacy and storage space than where he used to live, so he’ll probably take these to his own place soon… Well, he’ll take the Fleshlight, anyway. I’m pretty sure he wishes I would just throw the VerSpanken in the garbage.

This drawer currently contains only my enema. I’m not sure yet what else should go in here. Any ideas? Leave ‘em in the comments!

The bottom drawer is reserved for massager-style vibes. You can see my antique 1960s vibrator as well as my Bodywand, Fairy Mini Wand, and Lelo Smart Wand. I also have a Hitachi, Wahl, and Eroscillator, but those are kept next to my bed.

Other things I keep next to my bed at all times: several different kinds of lube and whatever toy(s) I am currently testing for review. Above my bed, on a curtain rod, all my paddles are hanging.

How do you store your sex toys? Are they organized, or are they kind of all over the place? Do you have any suggestions for how I can improve or change my system?

Sex Toy Reviewer FAQ

Kate Sloan

I’m a sex toy reviewer; duh. People are often curious about it. Here are some questions I’m frequently asked.

How did you get your start?

Like it says on my “about” page, after being interested in sexuality my whole life, I applied to a job at a sex shop. I didn’t get the job in the end, but in the process of applying, I did a lot of research to brush up on my sex toy knowledge – and somewhere during that Google tirade, I stumbled across some sex toy review blogs. Being a writer/journalist, I knew I could do what those bloggers were doing.

I started this blog and reviewed some toys I already owned. After I’d built up a small readership and backlog of posts, I started e-mailing sex toy companies to see if any of them would be willing to send me stuff to review. Sex Toys Canada and EdenFantasys were the first to say yes (though I’m not reviewing for either of them anymore). They started sending me stuff and the rest is history.

How can I become a sex toy reviewer?

Do what I did, as described above: start a blog, review some toys out of pocket, and then pitch yourself to companies.

Epiphora wrote a beginners’ guide on this very topic, and it’s much more informative and exhaustive than anything I could tell you. Pay particularly close attention to the part where she says you have to love writing and be in it for the long haul, because you aren’t going to be successful immediately, you aren’t going to get luxury toys right off the bat, and you aren’t going to succeed at all if your writing is terrible or boring.

How do you write a good sex toy review?

I’m not even confident that my reviews are good, but here’s what I’ve learned: you need to have a good balance between dry facts and entertainment value, and you also need to strike a balance between personal opinion and more generally relatable descriptions.

In most of my reviews, I’ll indicate whether or not the toy worked for me, but I’ll also give information that will help a reader figure out whether it would work for them. That’s important. The shape or size or texture or vibration strength of a toy may disqualify it from being enjoyable for me, but that doesn’t mean I should write a useless review in which I tear the toy apart because it didn’t work for my body. Each review has to be as useful as possible, while still being personal.

What does your boyfriend think of what you do?

He’s proud of me and he’s a willing participant in my work. Sometimes I review couples’ toys or men’s toys and my boyfriend happily helps me test them out (or, in some cases, tests them out on his own).

Are you “out” to people about what you do?

My friends, immediate family, and a few select members of my extended family know about my sex toy-related endeavors, yes. I’m lucky enough to come from a very open-minded, liberal family and to have friends who share those values too, so I was never concerned about any of them “finding out” about what I do.

I use a pseudonym (Girly Juice) because I don’t want to burn any bridges when it comes to future conservative employers or whatever. That said, I think we are moving into a future where writing about sex online won’t be an automatic disqualifier for getting a job, and I do hope to be able to “come out” as my real self online someday.

What was the first toy you ever reviewed?

The first thing anyone sent me to review wasn’t actually a toy; it was a book of spanking-themed erotica stories. It was a great book, as is every erotica anthology Rachel Kramer Bussel has ever edited, in my humble opinion.

The first actual toy I was sent to review was the Doc Johnson White Nights Super Bullet. It kind of sucked, but I was still thrilled to review it.

What’s your favorite toy you’ve ever reviewed?

My answer to this question will probably always be the same: the Eroscillator. It’s gotten the most use of any toy I own and gives me orgasms more reliably than any other.

I’ve also gotten a ton of use out of my Liberator Wedge, Njoy Pure Plug, VixSkin Mustang, Fun Factory G4 Patchy Paul, and Lelo Siri.

What’s the worst toy you’ve ever reviewed?

The Love Bone is quite possibly the most boring dildo of all time. I also strongly disliked the Joe Rock plug and Something Forbidden plug. And I still haven’t quite forgiven this glass egg for scaring the shit out of me when I thought it was stuck in my vagina forever.

So do you just, like, masturbate all day every day?

Uh, no. I actually probably masturbate less now than I did before I started reviewing.

I think people often don’t realize that sex toy reviewing isn’t just about testing the toys themselves – it also involves writing, researching, networking, marketing, managing affiliate accounts, corresponding with advertisers and sponsors, answering reader questions/comments, maintaining my website, etc. It’s definitely a pretty sweet gig but it’s not nearly as effortless as people seem to think it is.

Have sex toys lost their appeal, now that using them is basically your job?

Interestingly, no. Sure, I’m more analytical and critical of toys’ sensations now than I was before, but I still enjoy using and owning toys. They have improved my solo sex life significantly.

Where do you store all those toys?

I have two small sets of drawers – one plastic and one metal.

I will probably do a post (eventually) on my updated storage situation, with pictures and all, but for now, here’s the basic layout:

Plastic drawers, top drawer – favorite toys that are used often.
Second drawer – anal toys, Kegel toys, bullet vibrators, and lube samples.
Third drawer – silicone dildos.
Bottom drawer – condoms, porn DVDs, unused sex toy storage boxes, and instruction booklets.

Metal drawers, top drawer – rarely-used vibrators.
Second drawer – dildos made of unusual materials, like metal, wood, ceramic, and glass.
Third drawer – harnesses (of which I only have two so far).
Fourth drawer – men’s toys (because my boyfriend’s living situation doesn’t currently give him much privacy, so he prefers to keep his toys at my place).
Fifth drawer – currently empty except for my enema.
Bottom drawer – massager-style/electric vibes.

How many toys do you own?

Somewhere around 110 right now. I’ve reviewed more than that, but I sometimes give toys away to my friends, or just throw them out if they’re really terrible or broken. (My toybox page lists my collection in full.)

How much money do you make?

Not enough to live on. Yet. But more than I was expecting to make when I got into this biz, certainly.

What toys do you recommend for beginners?

A vibrator that is versatile, and inexpensive but body-safe, like the Turbo Glider.

A Tantus dildo with dimensions that will work for whatever orifice you’re trying to fill. If you’re a beginner to penetration (whether vaginal or anal) and want something slim, try the Charmer or Acute. If you’re ready for something more filling, consider the Comet, Adam O2, Echo, or Tsunami.

If you want to explore your G-spot, you could try a glass toy, or you could get one of the top-of-the-line G-spotters, the Comet Wand or Pure Wand.

If you want a butt plug, definitely look at Tantus’ plugs.

Birth Control: An Inconvenient Truth

Kate Sloan

As a bisexual, one of the things people often ask me is whether I prefer dating men or women. While that is obviously a stupid question, given that I choose partners based on their awesome qualities and not on their genitals, there is one thing that kind of sucks about dating people who have penises: it requires me to be on birth control.

When I first got into my current relationship, which is my first serious relationship with a dude, I got prescribed Alesse – a lower-dose hormonal contraceptive pill. (I was recommended the lower dosage because I have a family history of breast cancer.)

The first 12-18 months or so were hellish. Bad cramps, heavier and more frequent periods than I was used to, and – worst of all – one or two days every month of total batshit moodiness. During those days I’d feel depressed, sometimes suicidal, and always listless and dysfunctional. Many a time, I called up my city’s distress centre to weep at them, or sobbed uncontrollably all over my boyfriend’s formerly dry shirt.

I had always heard that the worst side effects of hormonal birth control will tend to go away after only a few months of being on the drug, but that wasn’t the case for me. It took at least a year before things started to clear up.

After that, I didn’t have depressed days anymore (at least, not hormonally-induced ones), my cramps weren’t as bad, and I got used to the amount of blood, so everything was cool. Except that I had started to hate the process of taking a pill every day. It was annoying to have to remember to do it at the same time, every single day, forever. So I went to see my doctor to discuss other options.

She put me on the NuvaRing, a squishy, hormone-emanating circle that you shove up inside your vag and leave for 3 weeks at a time. I LOVE IT. It’s genius.

Initially I was worried that I’d get an infection from using it, namely BV, because that’s what tends to happen to me when I leave something in my vagina too long. So I would take it out during every shower and give it a rinse before sticking it back in. But eventually I discovered that this wasn’t really necessary. I’ve been wearing my current ring continuously since I put it in 2+ weeks ago and haven’t gotten an infection or even any discomfort.

The one thing that doesn’t thrill me about the NuvaRing is that it makes me a little bit hesitant to use penetrative toys, because I’m worried that the ring will fall out. But really, I shouldn’t worry about that. If it does fall out, I can just rinse it off and put it back in.

My partner and I also use condoms on top of my hormonal BC. Maybe that makes us paranoid, but whatever – we just really, really cannot get pregnant at this juncture in our lives, so we’re being careful. With proper use of high-effectiveness BC methods, condoms aren’t necessary.

Do you use birth control? What’s your current method? Would you recommend it?

Bisexuality FAQ

Kate Sloan

I’m bisexual. People have opinions about it. People also have questions – a lot of questions, some of them pretty idiotic, some perfectly valid. Here are the questions I get most often about my sexual identity…

Which do you prefer, cock or pussy?

Well, first of all, that’s a super rude question. Other than queer folks, trans folks, and maybe some disabled folks, I don’t know anyone who routinely gets asked personal questions about their sex lives and genitals by total strangers. It’s grossly inappropriate. If you really want to know which I “prefer,” you should get to know me better and be more tactful about the way you ask.

Secondly, the whole premise of this question is really kind of stupid. I don’t choose lovers based on what genitalia they have. Yeah, that’s something I think about as we’re getting to know each other (“This person has a penis; guess I better start thinking about birth control!” or “This person has a vagina; I wonder if she would like to do some strap-on play when we get to that point!”), but it’s not an initial consideration. I don’t think to myself, “Okay, I’m attracted to this woman and also to this man, but I can’t make up my mind… Whose genitals do I prefer?” I fall in love with and become attracted to people as individuals.

Who gives better head/is better at sex, guys or girls?

I’ve put this question here because its answer is sort of a continuation of the last answer. Guess what? People are individuals; they can’t be generalized by their genders.

Personally, my current male partner is the best I’ve ever had, but that doesn’t mean that men overall are better at sex. Some men are good at sex, some are bad, some are in between; same deal with women. A good partner (communicative, enthusiastic, generous, adventurous) is going to be a good partner regardless of their gender or genitals; same deal with a bad partner (selfish, boring, uncommunicative).

Are you really a lesbian?

Nope. I’ve been attracted to men.

Are you really straight?

Nope. I’ve been attracted to women.

If the only women you’re attracted to are butch/androgynous ones, why don’t you just date men? Isn’t it basically the same thing?

Uh, no. See above re: people being individuals and not being reducible to their genders or genitals.

Imagine this: you’re in a very happy relationship with a woman who happens to dye her hair red. I say to you, “If you like redheads so much, why don’t you just date a natural redhead instead?” You explain to me that you like your girlfriend, not just her hair color – and you love her as an individual, not for her particular traits.

Well, exactly. I become attracted to butch women not because I’m specifically seeking out masculinity but because those are just the kinds of people I can be attracted to, so I sometimes find myself drawn to an individual person within that group. For her totality as a person. Not just for her butchness.

So do you cheat on your partners?/Are you capable of being monogamous?

I’m currently in a “monogamish” relationship (our arrangement is that we are allowed to flirt with and kiss other people, but no more than that). I don’t think of myself as being naturally monogamous and I would to explore consensual non-monogamy more in my future relationships.

However, this has absolutely nothing to do with my sexual orientation. Monogamousness and sexual orientation are separate – many straight people are not naturally monogamous, just as many queer people want to share their love and sex with only one person at a time. The two have nothing to do with each other, though non-monogamy is likelier to be openly acknowledged and accepted in queer communities than in straight ones, because queer people are already transgressing conventional social standards just by being queer so they are (usually) more okay with pushing the envelope in their relationships.

Just because I can be happy with both men and women doesn’t mean that I need to be with both men and women at one time. I’ve met countless bisexuals in my life and I’ve only ever met one who felt that she needed to be having sex with both men and women in order to be satisfied – and again, that has more to do with her proclivity toward non-monogamy than it has to do with her sexual orientation.

Why do you sometimes describe yourself as “queer”? Isn’t that an offensive term?

It has been used as an offensive term for a long time, and some people still find it offensive, yes. However, similar to “dyke” and “fag,” it has been reclaimed by many folks as a positive descriptor. Generally, if you use the word “queer” within an LGBT space, no one will bat an eye.

When I use the word, I am using it as an umbrella term to mean basically anything that isn’t straight – so it may include people who are gay, lesbian, bisexual, pansexual, questioning, heteroflexible, and label-free. Some people also put trans and genderqueer people into the category of “queer,” though I see gender identity as being a separate struggle from sexual orientation so I define them separately.

When describing my sexual orientation, I usually use the word “bisexual” in straight spaces, because almost everyone knows what it means, but I usually use the word “queer” in LGBT spaces because it’s more inclusive of all my attractions – and also because there is sometimes some biphobia in gay and lesbian spaces, so it’s sometimes best to avoid identifying myself as bi if I want to be taken seriously. (It’s a sad truth!)

Why do you call yourself “bisexual” instead of “pansexual”? Isn’t “bisexual” a cissexist term?

Yes, some people believe that the term “bisexual” is cissexist because it only acknowledges a binary of gender – i.e. two genders, male and female. I understand, appreciate, and accept that criticism.

However, in my case, “bisexual” is apt because 99.9% of my attractions are to people who fall into one of two specific gender categories – men (cis or trans) and butch/androgynous women. My attractions still fall into a binary, even though it’s not the conventional gender binary, so the term “bisexual” fits me.

The term “pansexual” suggests that I can be attracted to any type of person, regardless of their gender presentation, which isn’t true for me.

How did you know you were bisexual?

I had suspected it since I was about 11, because I found women’s bodies just as intriguing as men’s bodies in movies and porn clips (um, I was a precocious child).

When I was 15, a girl in one of my classes began to flirt with me – or at least, I perceived it as flirting – and I found myself feeling receptive to that, rather than repulsed by it. Nothing came from that, but later that year, I developed a huge crush on another girl who ended up becoming my first girlfriend.

When you eventually settle down, do you think it’ll be with a man or a woman?

Again, this has to do much more with a person’s individual characteristics than it does with their gender. There are certain traits that I would require in a partner if we were going to have a decades-long relationship, and gender wouldn’t be a factor for me as long as the person had those traits.

I don’t plan on having biological children, and same-sex marriage is legal where I live, so neither of those things will factor into it either.

Why do you have to put a label on yourself? Why can’t you just like who you like?

Some people can do that. Me, I need organization and definitions in order to feel secure. I like having a neat, crisp little word to be able to throw out there when someone asks me about my sexual orientation. It suits my needs. I respect people who can reject all labels, but it’s not for me.

Are you down for a threesome?

Um. Not really. I would have to be attracted to both of the people involved and they would have to both be attracted to me, or I wouldn’t have fun – and that’s unlikely.

Plus, please, for the love of all things sexy and holy, don’t assume that bisexuality automatically equals promiscuity or being cool with anything. Some bi folks are like that but not all.

Sometimes I see a girl who I think is pretty… Does that mean I’m bi too?

Probably not. Do you find yourself wanting to make out with her? Have sex with her? Hold her hand? Go on cute dates together? Refer to her as your girlfriend? If none of those ideas stir up any feelings in you, you’re probably not bi. It’s one thing to appreciate someone’s aesthetics, but it’s quite another thing to actually want some kind of relationship with them.

Does your boyfriend think it’s hot that you’re bi?

If he did, I don’t know if I’d still be with him. Fetishizing someone’s sexual orientation is pretty gross.

He understands and accepts that my bisexuality is a part of who I am. He’s not interested in threesomes or watching me with another woman, so he doesn’t find it sexually exciting; it’s just a fact about me.