Personal

She Died and Left Me Her Vibrator

Kate Sloan

A few weeks ago, my great-aunt passed away. This blog isn’t the right space to talk about death and mourning, so I won’t get into all that, but it was a sad time.

While we sat around at the hospital, letting it sink in, my aunt (who knows I review sex toys) said to me, “When we were clearing out her apartment, we found a vibrator from the 1960s. You should have it for your collection.” I laughed, sort of thinking she was joking, but sure enough, a few days later, she dropped by with said vibrator in a plastic bag.

I was immediately struck by how much it resembles my Wahl. In fact, I initially thought it was an older model of the Wahl, until I saw the name branded on the side, “The Body Machine.” It was manufactured by a Canadian company called Charlescraft, whose website features autoplay music (ugh) and various appliances and contraptions, but no massagers. I guess they stopped making them around the time that people realized they could get real sex toys and stop repurposing their innocent muscle massagers.

While I had no intention of using the Body Machine (sorry, can’t get onboard with using my deceased relative’s instrument of lust on my genitals), I wanted to test how its power compared to the Wahl. I expected it to be stronger, but actually, the Wahl easily wins out. The Body Machine’s low speed is akin to the mid-range on a contemporary rechargeable vibe, and its high speed is barely any higher. I guess my great-aunt was less choosy about her sex toys than I am (although, I guess if it were the ‘60s, you’d have to be).

So what’s the point of all this? I guess it just served as a reminder for me that practically everyone is sexual, even the folks you wouldn’t think of in that way. With few exceptions, we all want to get our rocks off and have fun doing it. I’m just glad I live in a time and place where I can buy products specifically designed to give me orgasms, rather than relying on a home appliance.

Sexy Adventures: Side-By-Side Masturbation

Kate Sloan

I’m really not a fan of the term “mutual masturbation,” because I feel it’s so often used incorrectly, at least in my view. The word masturbation traditionally refers to manual stimulation performed by oneself on oneself, i.e. self-pleasure. So to say that you and your partner exchanging handjobs is “mutual masturbation” would be a misnomer. Why not just say you exchanged handjobs?

That said, this past week, I participated in some actual mutual masturbation… i.e. my partner and I each masturbated, in each other’s presence, for one another’s entertainment, and for self-gratification. We’d never really done it before and it was pretty awesome.

I’m a pretty pro masturbator, as you might guess from reading my blog. I jerk off a lot, and have done since I was a child. Using fingers, toys, and even the occasional bath faucet, I can usually bring myself off in under ten minutes.

It’s different when someone else is present, though. This is something I’ve never been able to do comfortably. My ex-girlfriend used to ask me to jerk it in front of her, because she thought it’d be hot, but I just never wanted to. My current boyfriend has asked me to do it many times as well, for the same reason, but the only way I’ve been able to do it is if his dick was inside me at the same time and he couldn’t really see what was going on. I don’t know exactly why, but the idea of someone watching me masturbate makes me nervous and self-conscious.

The other night, though, we were both horny and exhausted, so I suggested that we lie next to one another and get ourselves off. All the intimacy of sex without the physical entanglement and obligation. My boyfriend agreed immediately.

He busted out a Tenga Egg from his backpack (I’m so proud), and I handed him my finger bunny vibe, which he likes to use on his balls. Then I grabbed my Tsunami, Eroscillator, and a bottle of lube for each of us, and we got down to business.

It was fun, though I still found myself feeling self-conscious, especially when I heard him re-applying lube or adjusting the vibrator’s settings, since I knew that meant his eyes were probably open and looking at me. It’s so silly that I still feel weird about this, considering how many of my orgasms this man has witnessed (hundreds upon hundreds). Maybe I just still think of masturbation as an entirely private thing, someone for no one’s eyes but my own.

This is a similar feeling to the time that my ex-girlfriend suggested she could use one of my dildos on me while eating me out. At first, I thought that sounded great, but as soon as she slid it in, my mind changed. “Nope. This feels way too private. I don’t feel right doing this with you.” It was absurd, but I couldn’t help it. I felt exposed and weirdly displaced.

Of course, now, I’m perfectly capable of having a partner (albeit a different partner) use toys on me during oral, and at other times. So maybe this mutual masturbation thing is something I just have to work on and slowly acclimatize myself to.

I Have Small Boob Privilege

Kate Sloan

Today I was sitting around in the basement of the place where I volunteer, and some of the folks there were having a conversation about the plight of having big breasts. While internally rehashing my own insecurities about having small-ish boobs (technically 32D when measured properly, though they are more like the conventional perception of B cups), I listened to these women lamenting their sore backs, their limited clothing options. One of them said, “I wish I was one of those women who can just get up and go to work without putting on a bra,” and I realized – I am one of those women.

I can get away with not wearing a bra, and I almost always do. I never experience back pain from the weight of my breasts. I can run up and down stairs braless without incident (though I prefer to hold them against my chest when I do this). I can have cleavage when I want to, and can make it disappear when I want to. I know how to make myself look like a busty vixen or a practically flat-chested teenager, just by changing my clothing and undergarments.

I have to acknowledge to myself that this is a huge privilege I’ve been blessed with. My curvaceous lower body has often made me ache for bigger boobs, to balance me out and make me into a classic hourglass. I’ve never really considered the possibility that being smaller on top is more versatile and spares me from various possible health problems.

I guess my point is, there ain’t no shame in boobs, no matter what size they are. Being small and being big both have their privileges and their drawbacks, and if we understand that, maybe we’ll stop being jealous of other women for they way their racks stack up.

My Sex Toy Drawers

Kate Sloan

Today I’m going to take a leaf out of Epiphora’s book and show you how I store my sex toys. This is something I’m always curious about with other people, so I thought I’d share some photos for those of you who obsess over toy storage as much as I do!

When I first started reviewing sex toys, I cleaned out this old stack of plastic drawers that had been holding miscellaneous papers and objects in my bedroom for years. I had previously been keeping my sex toys in a vintage hatbox, but my collection was already starting to outgrow that method, so I knew it was time for an upgrade.

On top of the drawers, I keep my external hard drives (there’s no other place for them to go, so whatevs!), a bottle of antibacterial toy cleaner, and a washcloth for wiping off the cleaner once it’s done its job. I also usually keep newer toys on top of the drawers as a reminder to myself that I need to use them so I can review them.

The top drawer holds all my frequently-used favorites, with the exception of the Eroscillator which I keep plugged in at my bedside. This drawer contains the Fling, Pure Wand, Tsunami (review coming on Friday!), Lelo Mona, Turbo Glider, and Amethyst. I’ve also stuffed in some Tantus stickers that I don’t know what to do with, and my original Eroscillator attachments, which I never use now that I have the fingertip attachment.

The second drawer holds anal toys like the Ripple and Joe Rock, vaginal exercisers like the Eclipse balls and Magic Banana, and couples’ toys like the Tiani and FixSation. I’ve also filled this drawer with toy wipes, small bottles and packets of lube, unneeded bullet vibes, flavored condoms, and latex gloves. This is basically a drawer of miscellany. As a side note, I keep all the silicone toys wrapped in plastic bags so that they don’t touch each other and have chemical reactions.

My third drawer is deeper than the others, so it can fit more stuff. I use it to hold all the dildos I use sometimes but not too often, like the Ella, Adam, and Echo. Once again, I keep the silicone toys wrapped in plastic bags (which are kept in this drawer for easy access), and I try to wrap all the glass toys in some kind of padded covering, like a scarf or some packing materials.

The bottom drawer doesn’t get used very often. Currently it’s where I keep extra condoms, porn DVDs, erotica books, and random instructional booklets that came with some of my toys.

As for the toys I own that I rarely or never use anymore, those get stashed in my hatbox, where I can remove them to show them off to friends but don’t actually have to look at them or deal with them. I keep condoms in a little easy-access basket right next to my bed, and lube just adjacent to that.

How do you store your sex toys? What would be the ideal storage system for your toy collection?

You Get to Choose How You Identify

Kate Sloan

The more I learn about queer and trans issues, the more I notice the prevalence of one particular truth in those spaces: you get to decide what labels you want to refer to yourself by.

This applies to many aspects of one’s identity. Sexual orientation is the obvious, glaring one. A woman might have sex with exclusively women, but if she identifies as primarily straight, you have to accept that. A young kid may tell you he’s gay, and you’re not allowed to say “But you don’t know yet!” because most people do know when they’re kids, even if they can’t articulate it or understand it. A person’s sexual identity may be the polar opposite of what you’d expect from them, but ultimately they are the ones who know best about who and what they are.

By that same token, I believe you get to choose whether or not you identify as a virgin.

Hear me out. Virginity is such a loaded topic. Some folks think it depends on the size and state of a membrane of skin embedded in your genitalia. Some think your virginity can be “taken” from you in nonconsensual situations, that people who are sexually assaulted, no matter their age, are no longer virginal. And still others think you can lose your virginity to a sex toy or your own fingers.

Here’s my own rough timeline of potentially lost virginities, according to various opinions that exist on the topic:
Age 6: Started touching my own genitals for pleasure.
Age 9: Reached my first orgasm, with the help of a bath faucet.
Age 12: Experimented with penetrating myself with my fingers.
Age 15: Used my first sex toys, both penetrative and not.
Age 16: Participated in oral sex with another girl.
Age 16: Was penetrated by another girl’s strapped-on silicone dildo.
Age 18: Participated in manual and oral sex with a guy.
Age 19: Was penetrated by a real, live, flesh-and-blood penis.

Here’s the thing, though… I didn’t feel that I really lost my virginity until I was 18. And that has nothing to do with the fact that it was with a dude, and everything to do with the fact that I was emotionally connected to him, unlike the girl I’d slept with who was my friend but not my passion. I still felt like a virgin when I was 17, but not when I was 19. My personal definition of my virginity is my choice to make, and I can do that by any criteria I choose.

I’ve never believed in virginity as a physical trait. Part of this came from growing up in communities and religions where there wasn’t much emphasis placed on the hymen: my parents, teachers, and doctors were more likely to lecture me about the emotional stresses of having sex than the physical changes that might occur. I was aware that I had a hymen, but I didn’t care about it. I even attempted to break it myself with hairbrush handles and shampoo bottles, because I wanted it gone. I didn’t want it to stop me from enjoying my first time having sex.

The first time I remember really pondering the concept of virginity was when I had my first kiss. I was twelve years old and we were playing Spin the Bottle in a deserted playground after our sixth-grade graduation. I was forced to kiss a boy for whom I had no romantic feelings whatsoever; we both closed our eyes and our friends shoved us toward each other, culminating in a “kiss” that lasted less than a second. I remember thinking, even then, that that was not a satisfactory event to be forever branded My First Kiss. I wanted a different one.

And so, when, four years later, I shared my next kiss with my first girlfriend, who filled me with teenage lust and wonder, that felt like my first kiss. And I decided to refer to it as such, from then on. When people ask me about my first kiss, I tell them, “My first real kiss was on my first girlfriend’s porch.” Very rarely does anyone ask for details about the kisses that came before that, the “not real” ones.

So what’s my point in all this? I believe in our freedom of choice when it comes to defining our own identities, and our own landmark moments. I believe that part of true independence is having the liberty and bravery to tell your own story from a perspective that makes sense to you. I believe in wearing rose-colored glasses if that’s a way you can fill your life with meaning and lift yourself up.

Readers: How do you choose to self-identify? Was your first kiss or first sexual experience different from the one you think of as your “real” first?