Personal

Selling Nudes Scares Me, But I Do It Anyway

Kate Sloan

The first time I ever sold a nude photo wasn’t like a first kiss or a first fuck; it didn’t stick in my memory that concretely, a fully-fledged moment recalled with multidimensional sensory details. It was much plainer than that. Probably some random person sent me a DM, I pulled a list of rates out of my ass, they picked what they wanted and sent a payment, and I scrambled to snap some nervous nudes in my attic bedroom. Not exactly an auspicious start, but hey, it’s something.

Looking through amateur porn galleries always wows me. These people are so brave. I know sometimes “You’re so brave!” is slung condescendingly at people who have chosen unconventional paths, even when they’ve chosen those paths out of necessity rather than courageousness – but I really do think anyone who makes porn of themselves and puts it on the internet is braver than most of their fans will ever even realize.

I know this because my own nudes are available for purchase and it is simultaneously one of the most empowering things I’ve ever done and one of the scariest. Most laypeople’s main worry, when I mention that there is porn of me on the internet, is how it might affect my future employment opportunities, but I feel pretty firmly that that ship has sailed: I’m not going to go into childcare or politics, and I’m not trying to write for conservative publications, so on that level it doesn’t really matter that you can find pics of my genitals online.

No, the thing that still scares me most about being publicly naked is the sheer vulnerability of nudity itself. The likelihood of people saying (or thinking) mean things about my body. The way that internet commentators sometimes speak with such unearned authority that their criticisms creep coldly into my brain and stay lodged there, overriding any calming compliments from loved ones.

But as prevalent and understandable as these fears are, I also know that I have overcome them before, and I can do it again.

When I went quasi-viral a few years ago for writing an article about how some abusive men twist feminist rhetoric to get women to trust them, I was hounded by misogynistic trolls for weeks. They sent me death threats, told me to kill myself, left cruel comments for me across multiple platforms. I was scared for my physical safety. But one of the things that snapped me out of my fight-or-flight daze was seeing these men mock photos of me in a strap-on. They spoke as if this was an inherently disgusting sight, like they didn’t even need to explain why it was grotesque to see a chubby woman looking happy and confident while strapped into pink leather and wielding a glittery dildo. And I laughed and laughed, because… I looked hot in those photos. People whose opinions I actually cared about had told me so, and I thought so myself.

If this was really the best they could do – telling me I looked stupid and gross in a photo where I looked verifiably happy and hot – then they had no real power over me. They had tried to humiliate me and had failed. The spell was broken.

I was reminded of the famous Eleanor Roosevelt quote, “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” I have a lot of problems with this quote, most notably that it contributes to victim-blaming rhetoric when survivors get understandably upset about being objectified or harassed or assaulted. But, I do still think that your attitude about your own victimization can contribute to (but isn’t at all solely responsible for) how you end up feeling about that victimization. And since these trolls were sad weirdos whose rage toward me was probably borne from resentments they held toward women they actually knew in their actual lives, rather than being due to anything I’d really done or said, it felt relatively easy to shrug off their bad-faith attacks once I’d seen that they really had no ammo.

I was proud of the things they wanted to shame me for. I loved the things about myself that they claimed were worth hating. My life was full of love and sex, despite their projected insistence that someone like me could neither deserve nor acquire either of those things. Their arguments had no teeth, no real impact, no basis in reality. What they were saying was far more about them than it was about me, and that had been true the whole time.

It still makes me nervous every time I hit “publish” on a new batch of nudes. But it helps to know that all the arguments I’ve ever heard for why I shouldn’t post them are essentially meaningless. I’m not trying to get an office job. I don’t give a shit about impressing misogynist trolls. No decent partner of mine would ever be threatened by me being naked in public. And most crucially of all, although I have my bad body image days like everyone else, I know ultimately – in my heart of hearts and pussy of pussies – that my body is beautiful and worth celebrating. The “someone just bought your nudes!” notifications that show up in my inbox are just one of the many pieces of evidence proving that to be so.

 

This post was sponsored. As always, all writing and opinions are my own.

Protocol Diaries: Music to My Ears

Kate Sloan
Posing with my baritone ukulele in 2010

I have a classically millennial problem, which is that I keep monetizing all my hobbies, thereby draining a lot of the joy out of them. I’m sure many of you can relate.

Professionalizing what was once a creative diversion isn’t inherently a bad thing – I love writing and am happy almost every day that I get to make a living doing something I enjoy and am good at. I just think it’s a mistake to turn all your hobbies into income sources (keeping in mind that being able to avoid this is, of course, a function of financial privilege and is not an option for everyone). It’s much, much easier to get burned out on your work when you have very few non-work avenues for creativity, playfulness, exploration, and growth.

One way I’ve tried to combat this problem in my life is to create a protocol with my partner that “forces” me to make music more consistently. See, when I was younger, music was my life. I sang in choirs from a young age, studied violin and ukulele in school, took piano lessons, guitar lessons, voice lessons, auditioned for musicals, performed in revues, played shows at coffee shops, busked in parks, opened for local musicians, laid down tracks in recording studios, tickled the ivories at theatre festivals. There was a period of time when I very seriously planned to play music for a living. (You can watch me playing songs dating back to ~2005 on my YouTube channel if you want.)

Playing at the CanStage Youth Arts Jam in 2009

Writing my own songs and performing them, in particular, nourished my soul. In high school I would write as many as 8 new songs a month, many of which were actually pretty good. (Here’s a collection of some of my favorites if you want to take a listen.) There was something deeply satisfying about crystallizing a particular emotion or experience into a sonically appealing piece of art, and then being able to play it for people. Even on my saddest nights, after breakups or rejections or awkward parties, I could cobble together a song from my tears and wounds and failures, and it would make me feel better without fail.

However, then I went on hormonal birth control, and what followed was a period of three and a half years when I was wracked with mental health symptoms worse than any I’d previously experienced – plus, notably, a total loss of my creative drive. I wrote zero songs for years, and it hurt. I’d sit at the piano, or hold my ukulele protectively against my chest, willing new music to occur to me magically and near-effortlessly the way it once had – but my songwriting impulse was totally gone.

Upon going off the NuvaRing, I hesitantly wrote my first song in years – called “Anxiety,” since that was my main emotion at the time – and more songs started to come after that. But the writing process was slow, stilted, forced. I rarely seemed able to recapture the frenetic energy that had propelled me to write literally dozens of songs a year, way back when.

Anyway, back to the present, and the protocol. I told my spouse a while ago that I really missed playing and singing – that I felt I’d lost part of myself when I’d lost the music. I’d moved out of my parents’ big old house, with its big old piano, and into a small apartment where my roommate and neighbors could hear every note I played. I was paralyzed by self-doubt, worried that my voice was rusty and so was my musicality in general. So with my permission, Matt made a protocol dictating that every month, I would have to learn (or write) one new song, and make an audio or video recording of myself playing it.

In my room, probably writing emo songs, in 2008

It may seem counterintuitive to try to “force” yourself to do something that is “supposed” to be about joy, freedom, play. But sometimes it works. I still only play music once or twice a month, which pales in comparison to my high school days when I’d play almost every night – but that’s better than nothing.

Over the past several months, at Matt’s behest, I’ve covered a ton of songs I admire and love: “Jeremy’s Wedding” and “Where Are You, Judy?” by Andy Shauf, “Vines” by Hippo Campus, “Alone Again, Naturally” by Gilbert O’Sullivan, “Saw You in a Dream” by the Japanese House, “Brooklyn” by Brotherkenzie, “Harvey” by Her’s, and “Girlfriend” by Daniel Bedingfield. Playing other people’s songs isn’t quite the same creative rush as setting my own words to my own melodies, but it nonetheless feels like a breath of fresh air after so many years of keeping my music at a distance emotionally, like a lover you’re about to break up with. I’m tiptoeing my way back into what used to be my greatest joy, and it may not feel exactly the way it used to, but nothing really does. That’s the nature of aging.

In adulthood, sometimes we have to schedule our recreation, plan our playfulness, put our aimless meandering on a calendar – or it simply won’t happen. This protocol has taught me that prioritizing my own creative expression (OUTSIDE OF WORK, crucially) is imperative for my happiness, and is an extremely basic act of self-care. I may not be able to become that starry-eyed, ukulele-wielding teenager I once was, but when I make music, I can almost touch her again, can almost hear her. And it sounds like she’s telling me to sing louder.

My Favorite Album is a Decade Old (& Absurdly Romantic)

Kate Sloan

It’s funny how falling down an internet rabbit hole can lead you to opportunities, people, and art that will later change your life.

That’s what happened to me with the Fort Christmas 5-song EP titled Feathers, way back in 2011. I was an occasional follower of Rock ‘n’ Roll Bride, a wedding blog for “alternative” brides. They posted an engagement photoshoot of a couple, Jeremy Larson and Elsie Flannigan (now Elsie Larson!), whose quirky, Wes Anderson-esque aesthetic I was immediately intrigued by. When I googled them to find out more, I stumbled upon this blog post by their photographer, who mentioned that Jeremy – a musician, songwriter, and music producer – had released an entire album all about his relationship with Elsie. As a diehard romantic, of course I clicked the link. And I promptly fell in love.

Feathers clangs and clamors right off the top, crashing into my headphones with instantly cheery 1960s-style instrumentals (every part performed by Jeremy, by the way). The opening song, “The Leave Behind,” tells the story of Elsie and Jeremy’s maybe-first date – hanging out with friends on New Year’s Eve, feeling a connection, but not sure yet what to do about it. (I make a point to play this song every year on December 31st, if I’m near a piano or a ukulele, because it just makes me so damn happy to do so.)

Though later in the album he’ll sing about long-term love, getting engaged to Elsie, and wanting a future with her, the first track sparkles like freshly-fallen snow as Jeremy sings about what it feels like to realize you may have just met your future spouse:

Everyone’s eyes are on the TV in the room
But my eyes are fixed on you, and they don’t stray
Because I know that this is the beginning of
The best years of my life
The first years of our life
Starting now
With you and I tonight
-Fort Christmas, “The Leave Behind“

I think the main reason this album struck me as hard as it did was that I was looking for, hoping for, wishing for that kind of love at the time. I was about to graduate from high school, and my relationships during those tumultuous years tended to be brief, surface-level, and unsatisfying. As I walked out into the wider world of adulthood, I sensed there was big big love waiting for me somewhere out there – and the lyrics and guitars and jubilant drums of Feathers felt like the musical embodiment of everything my heart ached for.

I had a relationship with this album that I’ve had occasionally with other songs and albums throughout my life, one of total and complete obsession, self-soothing by repetition. Maybe it’s a bipolar thing, or maybe my brain just latches onto certain music in a way that is slightly abnormal. In any case, before too long I had Feathers playing in my ears at almost all hours of the day. I’d slip my headphones on as I walked to school; I’d transcribe the songs’ words in my school notebooks in spare moments during math class; I’d take solo lunches, leaving my friends behind so I could wander around outdoors under the guise of “getting food” while actually just feeding my brain with gorgeous melodies. I struggled to explain to everyone in my life why these 5 songs were literally all I wanted to listen to anymore (and why I had to play them on loop on the shared family computer when my mom was trying to watch Grey’s Anatomy in the next room). These songs had come to feel like an integral part of my mental and emotional functioning. They felt like food, or water, or air.

At some point I even set Feathers as my alarm, so I could be blasted awake every day not by blaring beeps but instead by Jeremy Larson’s joy. Sometimes I put it on when I went to bed at night, too – though the album made me buzz with happiness so profoundly that I often found it hard to sleep when it was playing.

It’s useless to pretend
You’re not in love with your best friend
On nights like these, it’s fairly evident
-Fort Christmas, “Story Telling”

Two or three months into this Feathers-mania, I met my first serious boyfriend. He was a mild-mannered, good-hearted, goofy nerd from OkCupid, and although I’d had severe anxiety about dating cis men until that point, he ushered me into that world with unfathomable patience and care. (He also encouraged me to start this blog and faithfully cheered me on for years after I did, but that’s another story.) I began to fall in love for the first time.

The songs of Feathers, which are largely about NRE (New Relationship Energy), were the perfect backdrop for this era in my life. It was almost like they had been written for me to listen to at this time – or, more likely, listening to them so much had ushered circumstances into my life that could readily create the same feelings I conjured in my body and brain every time I listened. For the first couple months of our relationship, I kept accidentally calling my new boyfriend “Jeremy,” which was not his name – not because I would rather have been dating Jeremy Larson (my esteem for him has always been mostly limited to musical admiration), but because over my hours and hours of looped listening, his name had crept into my head as the one most associated with crushiness, romantic excitement, and love – and that’s how my boyfriend made me feel. (I’m sure I tried to explain this at the time, and I hope he took it as a compliment!)

I survived the worst night of my life
It went long, staggering 26 years strong
And you arrived to save me, just in time
A new light, morning light, and here we are together
-Fort Christmas, “Newbie“

I think what has stuck with me most about this album is the way it showed me what I find romantic. Or maybe it helped create my sense of what is romantic. I honestly could not fathom, at age 18, that anyone would ever love me enough to, say, write and record and produce an entire album about how much they loved me. I already had inklings that this type of creative effort impressed me, turned me on, and made me swoon (the enby ex who penned me love poems in scrappy zines; the saved voicemail of a girlfriend breathily serenading me), but this album clarified for me that those wishes weren’t just fantasies. People like that really existed somewhere out there.

That first serious boyfriend was a game developer, and during our relationship, he made games for me, like little digital interactive love notes. He also sketched portraits of me, took cute photos of me, cooked me meals, and wrote me beautifully effusive messages on special occasions. His love-borne creativity may not have manifested exactly like Jeremy Larson’s did when he wrote Feathers about Elsie, but that album had broadened my romantic psyche enough that I could see these gestures for what they were: deep, devoted love.

I still listen to Feathers a fair amount. In fact, pretty much whenever it crosses my mind for any reason, I pull it up on my phone and put it on. Even just hearing those opening drum beats makes my entire body relax – because these songs remind me of a time when I believed in and wanted love more than I believed in or wanted anything. And that’s a good feeling, even 10+ years and 5+ partners later. The contours of my heart would be different today if I hadn’t clicked that fateful link in 2011 – or if Jeremy Larson hadn’t picked up a guitar and thought, “I’m going to write some songs about the person I love.”

Here’s a promise I can keep:
I’ll never find another like you
We will stay together
Will you make a lucky man,
An honest man, a better man
For not allowing you to slowly slip away?
-Fort Christmas, “Engaged“

Sextistics 2020: An End-of-Year Sexual Stats Breakdown

Kate Sloan

As odd as it may seem, keeping a sex spreadsheet again this year (going strong since 2015, baybee!) helped me make sense of the chaotic mess that was 2020. I may not have been able to fuck at my favorite hotels and sex clubs, but I could sure keep my data up-to-date and color-coded.

Here, as per tradition, is a post enumerating and analyzing some of the key stats from my 2020 sex spreadsheet. Strap in!

 

Overview

  • In 2020, I had partnered sex 200 times. (Wooo, nice round numbers!)
  • That works out to an average of 16.66 times per month, 3.84 times per week, and 0.55 times per day.
  • I had 181 orgasms from partnered sex (not counting phone sex, which has its own section below).
  • My partner had 178 orgasms during sex with me. (One of their goals, after we started playing with chastity kink, became to give me more orgasms during the year than they had themselves, and they succeeded.)
  • An incomplete list, in alphabetical order, of kinks that were part of my sex life this year: biting, bondage, chastity, choking, cock and ball torture, cuckolding, DD/lg, electrostimulation, face-slapping, financial domination, forced feminization, humiliation, hypnosis, intoxication, kicking, punching, rimming/analingus, roleplay, sadomasochism, scratching, sensory deprivation, sleepy sex, spanking, squirting, temperature play, trampling, wax play.

 

Compared to last year…

  • I had 1.96% less sex, i.e. almost exactly the same amount (204 vs. 200 times).
  • I had an orgasm 90.5% of the time when I had sex, as opposed to 85.3% last year. Improvements, yay!
  • My partner had an orgasm 89% of the times we had sex, as opposed to 103.4% last year, due to our forays into chastity play.
  • I had 2 partners (depending on whether you count a one-off blowjob porn shoot), same as last year when I also had 2.

 

Locations

  • I had sex in a total of 4 locations this year, as opposed to 9 last year. Obviously the pandemic had a lot to do with this!
  • These locations included my place, my spouse’s place, and two hotels: the Conrad, where we stayed on our wedding night, and the Wythe, where we stayed for our little “staycation” honeymoon.

 

Highs & lows

  • My most sexually active month was November (31 times). There were several months this year that we spent entirely together, but many of those were super stressful due to global news; I think by November our pandemic stress had mellowed slightly so we were fucking more often.
  • My least sexually active months were August and September, the only months this year when I didn’t see Matt at all.
  • The day on which I had the most sex was January 26th, at 3 times. It was the Sunday of one of Matt’s weekend visits to me in Toronto, so it made sense that we were trying to “cram it all in,” as it were.
  • I didn’t have any sessions containing multiple orgasms on my part this year, which is the first time that’s happened to me maybe ever? Orgasms are getting trickier for me as I get older!

 

Correlations

  • The sex acts most highly correlated with orgasm for me were being fucked with a dildo while using a vibrator (152 times) and receiving oral sex (18 times).
  • Less common ways I got off were using a vibrator while being fingerfucked (9 times) and being fucked with a dildo while receiving oral sex (2 times).

 

Sex toys

  • My most-used vibrators during partnered sex this year were the Eroscillator Top Deluxe (155 times), the Magic Wand Rechargeable (28), and the Hot Octopuss Amo (2). Notably, many of the times I used the MWR this year, I was using it on my partner and not myself. What can I say, I really love my Eroscillator.
  • My most-used dildos during partnered sex were the Njoy Eleven and Vixen Creations Bandit (tied at 32 times each), the Fucking Sculptures Double Trouble (18 times), and the Njoy Pure Wand, New York Toy Collective Carter, and Uberrime Night King (tied at 15 times each). My dildo usage was less diverse this year than some previous years because I spent large swathes of time in New York this year, where all I have access to is Matt’s collection and whatever I can fit into my suitcase.
  • My most-used kink toys with partners were a good old-fashioned blindfold (16 times), the Neon Wand and its Power Tripper attachment (5 times), and my custom purpleheart Weal & Breech mallet (3). My RodeoH harness also got more use than usual (3 times) because my partner used it to fuck me with a strap-on while locked up in chastity sometimes.
  • The “pervertibles” I used this year included a cucumber, tweezers, and a pair of cowboy boots.

 

Phone sex

  • In 2020, I had phone sex 122 times, versus 246 last year (i.e. about half as much). This is because Matt and I were physically together for 62.8% of the year (we extended visits for weeks/months at a time, both for pandemic reasons and because we were “practicing” cohabitating to make sure it would be a good idea to get married).
  • That works out to an average of 10.2 times per month, 2.3 times per week, or 0.33 times per day.
  • If you calculate the averages based only on when we were physically apart, we had phone sex 26.9 times per month, 6.3 times per week, or 0.9 times per day, which is much more in line with our usual (i.e. non-pandemic year) phone sex numbers.
  • I had 119 orgasms from phone sex, meaning I orgasmed 97.5% of the times we had phone sex. Matt, on the other hand, came only 85 times or 69.7% of the times we had phone sex, again due to periods of chastity.
  • Comparing our phone sex numbers to our IRL sex numbers, phone sex was only 37.9% of my sex life this year, versus 54.7% last year.
  • The total amount of sex sessions I had this year (IRL sex + phone sex) was 322.
  • That works out to an average of 26.83 per month, 6.19 per week, or 0.88 per day. Woof.

 

Did you keep a record of your sex life this year? Notice anything interesting?

 

Additional resources if you’re curious:

12 Days of Girly Juice 2020: 2 Fears Defeated

Kate Sloan

We all do scary things all the time, whether we consciously notice it or not. Hell, even getting out of bed each morning when the world is so chaotic is a brave-ass thing to do.

Each year I write here about 2 major fears I conquered over the course of the year, as a reminder to myself and to others that (as Glennon Doyle says) we can do hard things. There’s always more to learn, more hurdles to jump, and more courage to call upon. Here are the 2 big fears I defeated in 2020…

 

Cutting my hair short

All the way back to middle school, I read a lot of magazines aimed at women and girls. This had some upsides – allowing me to explore nascent interests in sex and fashion, for instance – but a lot of downsides, one of which was that I grew very self-conscious about so-called “flaws” like my pear-shaped body or my large forehead. The proliferation of these types of “teachings” may have been reduced in recent years due to the body-positivity movement (not to mention the many many fat babes who spearhead it), but the damage was done. I and many other women had come to view fundamental parts of our physical selves as something to be covered up and worked around.

Because I have a round face and a big forehead, the conventional wisdom is that my hair should be shaped a certain way to de-emphasize those traits. For a long time I wore it long, with sideswept bangs, to conceal the true contours of my face. But who was I kidding? And, more importantly: why did I care so much?

It’s taken me literal decades to get to a place of relative comfort with my appearance, and even that still comes and goes depending on the day. One decision I’m proudest of in that realm is cutting my hair to chin-length last December. I was sick and tired of my long frizzy curls, which had felt more cumbersome than joyful for a while. I also wanted a haircut that said something about who I am, rather than just allowing me to blend into the background. I used to dress unremarkably when my social anxiety was at its height, because I didn’t want anyone to look at me or notice me – but that was no longer the case! Now I wanted to be seen – and not only that, but to be seen for who I really am: a queer, kinky, feminist, clever, accomplished, professional, foxy lady.

My long-time hairdresser Paul at Avalon Hair Design looked at the reference images I’d collected for him and knew exactly what to do. He gave me a short, asymmetrical haircut that’s a bit longer in the front; it’s modern, unusual, and works well with my natural curls. I’ve loved it all year, and have felt much more visible since getting it, both as a queer person and just as a person. Thanks, Paul!

Photo by Ashe of Rose Glass Photography

Getting engaged + married

I can think of few other things in life that have simultaneously attracted me and terrified me the way the idea of marriage does/did. I’m a huge introvert so I had trouble conceiving of a life where there would always be another person around – but, more pressingly than that, I worried I didn’t have what it took to be loved in the long-term. My past relationships had often fizzled when I or the other person lost interest and ended things, and it seemed risky as hell to make a public, legal commitment to stay in a relationship when there’s a chance it could fall apart at any time.

But in multiple chats with both my therapist and my now-spouse, I uncovered the ways in which these fears were largely based on my own insecurities and traumas, and were therefore not super relevant to my current (healthy, communicative, loving) relationship. Sure, it’s normal to want to tread carefully when making a big life decision like getting married, but that doesn’t automatically mean it’s a bad decision.

Getting married to Matt was actually one of the easiest and most right-feeling things I’ve ever done, once I managed to set aside the trauma-borne negativity that nagged at me when we first started discussing it. I’ve never met anyone else I felt as compatible with in a long-term kind of way, nor have I ever felt this unconditionally, unendingly loved in a relationship before. I have no doubt that there will be struggles and setbacks in our married life, of the kind that every couple encounters, but I know with certainty that I am with someone who will patiently face those struggles with me and do what it takes to work through them.

It’s wild to be writing this here. I wonder what my teenage self would think if she could read this. Starting this blog at age 19, I don’t think I ever even considered the possibility that I would one day chronicle my engagement and marriage here. But it makes sense that I would: Matt and I met through the sex-blogosphere, and our relationship has blossomed in the public eye. It’s been so wonderful to get to share my happy news with you during this hell-year; thank you so much, as ever, for your support and positivity, and for celebrating our joys with us. ❤️

 

What fears did you conquer this year? (I’m proud of you!!)