All Reviews

Review: Neon Wand

Kate Sloan

How to describe the sensation of electrostimulation? It’s like a hot tattoo needle pummelling your skin. It’s like a highly concentrated, strobing sunburn. It’s like the snap of a razor-sharp, sun-heated whip.

It’s like trust, like vulnerability, like catharsis. It’s like letting your partner usurp your will. It’s like floating in a subspacey haze, vaguely wondering from afar how long this has been going on and how long it will go on. It’s like that.

But let me back up. First we need to talk about the Neon Wand.

The sweethearts at SheVibe were kind enough to send me a KinkLab Neon Wand electrosex kit after I wrote, in January, about wanting to try E-stim. I opened the box reverently when it arrived, and carefully turned over each piece in my hands: the rubber-handled base unit, the four sturdy-feeling glass attachments, the AC cable, and the little booklet of instructions. The toy looked like something from a science lab, and though it stirred my recurrent medical-play fantasies immediately, it took me weeks to work up the courage to actually try it.

When I did finally affix one of the Wand’s attachments to its base and plug it in, I went easy on myself. I barely turned the dial up, and held the glass close to my inner forearm to test the sensation. Jagged red light shot out the tip and seemed to singe my skin, though it left no marks. The pain, mild enough to barely register, was nonetheless unlike anything I’d ever felt before – except the hot sharpness of a tattoo needle.

I’m glad I tried the Neon Wand on my own first, to get a sense for it, but it became clear that wouldn’t be enough for me. Like most types of kinky pain, I like electrostim best when exploring it with a partner. Alone, I just won’t press myself to the painful edges a dominant will. And – vitally – it’s difficult, if not impossible, for me to access subspace without someone there to push me into it.

Subspace, if you’re unaware, is the psychological state often cited by submissives, bottoms, and masochists as a key motivating factor in their pursual of these activities. Athletes chase a “runner’s high,” artists flourish “in the zone,” and submissives hunger for subspace. There’s some evidence that all these states are psychologically and physiologically similar – along with topspace, trance, and “flow.” For me, subspace is euphoric, like being pleasantly high; mind-emptying, like a hypnotic daze; disinhibiting, like a midnight wine buzz. In the right context and with the right type of dom, subspace can feel to me like the safest place in the world – because I have no decisions to make and nothing really to fear, knowing my partner will take care of everything.

The first time I used my Neon Wand with a partner, I think we expected a high-energy power-play scene, but what actually emerged was a slow, blissful exploration of subspace. My boyfriend cuffed me to my bed using my Sportsheets restraints, so I couldn’t move; all I could do was watch him. And watch, I did, as he first read the Neon Wand’s instructions and then began setting it up. This entire process took probably five minutes, but the wait felt interminable, because I wanted this cute and conscientious nerd to start zapping me already.

But first, he tested it on himself. I watched him hold the glass-tipped Wand to his arm, pausing in between each contact to adjust the dial on the bottom. I would highly recommend the top in an electrosex scene test their toy on themselves like this, especially if either partner is inexperienced with E-stim; you need to know what you are doling out in order to do so safely. And the person you’ll be zapping will also benefit from watching you do this, as I did that day. Trusting a top – knowing that they understand what they are doing, the intensity of it, the gravity of it – is a crucial component of the recipe for subspace.

Once my boyfriend knew his way around the Neon Wand, he began using it on me. He grazed it across my arms, my thighs, my belly. He touched upon known erogenous zones of mine: my nipples, my upper trapezius, my heart tattoo. He kept the intensity level low enough, at first, that I barely flinched. And then he began to increase it, muttering all the while his usual monologue of “You like that, babygirl? You want more? Can you take a little more for me? I need you to take a little more for me, baby…”

Endorphins kicked in, as they’re wont to do in sadomasochistic kink scenes. The pain got objectively worse but felt subjectively better. My yelps of pain melted into purrs of pleasure. I floated away to that place where subs go. I no longer cared what weird things my face or body might do. I was blank, buzzy, buoyant in my own brain.

Imagine if you could extend the length of an orgasm almost indefinitely, in a way that was fun and easy for both partners. Subspace, in a power-exchange relationship, can be like that. The deeper I fell into subspace, the more my boyfriend enjoyed pushing me down into it. The louder my gasps and shrieks got, the harder he tried to pull them from me. The higher he cranked the dial on the Neon Wand, the higher I felt on neurotransmitters trying to separate me from my pain. We luxuriated in this interaction for… I have no idea how long. One of the key characteristics of subspace is time dilation. Topspace, too. Time means nothing.

Some kink activities induce an altered state as a means to an end – like spanking someone to get them wet and ready for a fuck. But some kink activities induce an altered state for that altered state’s own sake – like hypnotizing someone just because they like the sensation of trance. Electrostimulation can be either or both of these things for me: pain and subspace turn me on, so we can move on to other sexy things once the Neon Wand is unplugged and put away – but I can also enjoy pain-induced subspace on its own merits. It doesn’t have to be sexual; it can be positively meditative. And sometimes it’s both.

Having used the Neon Wand on me a few times now, my boyfriend has only two complaints about it. One is that there are no markings on the toy’s dial, so you can’t find your way back to a beloved intensity level with any precision; adjusting the dial is always a matter of eyeballing it and hoping for the best. His other issue with this Wand is that we topped out its abilities and he’d prefer something with more power, though, as the bottom in these scenes, I don’t think the Neon Wand’s power is insufficient; I think my boyfriend is just an insatiable sadist. (It’s okay, I can say that; I love him.) The good news is, there are lots of other E-stim toys we could try – and endorphins don’t last forever, so if he keeps hurting me during the floatiest interludes of subspace, eventually my body will circle back to interpreting the pain it’s feeling as pain. And then the squeals and grimaces will return, and my boyfriend the sadist will be sated.

I’m overall delighted with the Neon Wand. It’s an easy-to-use, low-maintenance, well-constructed introduction to the world of E-stim. Beyond the physical sensations it provides, the real gift it’s given me is another intimate way to connect with my partner through consensual pain and altered psychological states. Before dipping my toe into electro, I never would’ve guessed that getting zapped could feel so zen – but here I am, an electrostim evangelist, sighing contentedly at the memory of my stinging skin.

 

Thanks so much to SheVibe for sending me the Neon Wand to review!

Cocks & Cocktails: Drink Pairings For Sex Toys

Kate Sloan

One of my Sir’s many talents is having a cocktail recommendation on tap for any occasion. He always orders my drinks when we go out together, and it gives me a feeling much like when he chooses exactly the right sex toy for what I’m craving on any given day: like he knows me and my needs better than I know myself. *swoon*

Recently, we were brainstorming some collaborations we could do together, and it occurred to me that we could write about cocktail pairings for sex toys. He brightened at the suggestion, and I could practically hear his mind whirring. Here are the pairings we came up with!

The We-Vibe Tango is a rumbly little bullet vibrator, perfectly sized and shaped for targeted clitoral stimulation. It comes in fun, sassy shades of pink and blue.

Sir recommends pairing the Tango with a Blackberry Rumble. (A rumble is a bramble made with rum instead of gin. It’s a pun, get it?!) “It’s a crushed-ice drink, which is rumbly, in a way, because you’ve gotta kinda bang it around,” he told me. “It’s very sweet and it ends up being pink, like the Tango. It’s also served with a short, thin straw reminiscent of the Tango’s shape. Crush that into your clit!” Except maybe don’t really. It sounds pointy. The Tango would probably feel better.

The Magic Wand Rechargeable is my favorite wand vibrator. It’s a lot of people’s favorite, actually! It’s a big, bulky behemoth with four reliable settings and a workhorse of a battery. It’s been a nightstand staple of mine for years!

“Because the Magic Wand is kind of the O.G., I would have to pair it with the Old Fashioned,” Sir said. The jumbo-sized ice cube usually found in an Old Fashioned resembles the big, unwieldy head of the Magic Wand – but they’ve got some similarities philosophically, too. “They’ve both inspired a lot of things and they’re still as good today as they were when they were first invented,” Sir explained. “There is no need to change them; they are immutable truths of the universe.”

The Hot Octopuss Pulse II is a vaguely tube-shaped vibrator meant to stimulate the penis with deep, rumbly oscillations. It has a simple, no-nonsense aesthetic, and is known for helping penis-owners experience a new and different type of orgasm.

“Like the Pulse, the Tuxedo No. 2 cocktail is a twist on a classic,” Sir explained. “In the same way that the Pulse throws you for a loop a little bit with its shape and its deep vibrations, the Tuxedo throws you for a loop too: you think you’re drinking a martini, but then it hits you with the Maraschino and the absinthe and hey, it’s not a martini!” The Pulse is also black and wraps around your dick… a little like a tuxedo. You know, a tuxedo for your dick.

The VixSkin Outlaw is a big, meaty, realistic dildo made of dual-density silicone. If you want girth, length, and realism, it’s hard (pun intended) to go past VixSkin.

Sir recommends pairing the Outlaw with the Zombie cocktail. “Served in a pretty large glass and difficult to make, it’s an intimidating drink – so much so that when it was originally served, its inventor wrote ‘maximum 2 per customer’ next to the Zombie on the menu,” he told me. “It’s like a big realistic dildo in that way. You’re not gonna take the Outlaw every time, probably. It’s more of a special-occasion dick.” He noted that the Zombie was supposedly originally invented to help a hungover customer get through a business meeting, which it definitely would not do, but the Outlaw could probably get you through a breakup. “Plus the ‘Outlaw Zombie’ just sounds cool. Like a zombie breaking the law.”

The Njoy Pure Wand is a C-shaped piece of stainless steel with a differently-sized round bulb on each end. It’s perfect for putting firm, unrelenting pressure on your G-spot or prostate. It is cold, intense, and formidable.

Sir says you should pair the Pure Wand with a daiquiri – fresh or frozen, though it’ll evoke chilly steel more vividly if it’s frozen. “The daiquiri’s my favorite simple, bold drink. It’s bright, sparkling, classic, intense, and timeless, like the Pure Wand,” he told me. “Plus, in the same way that the Pure Wand has one end that’s bigger and one that’s smaller, you can do a daiquiri with white rum if you want it less intense, or with dark rum if you want it funkier and more interesting. You get two different sensations out of that, and you can start with one and move to the other, just like with the Pure Wand.”

What cocktail would you pair with your favorite sex toy?

 

Thanks to my Sir for his excellent contributions, and thanks also to Friction for sponsoring this post! They’re one of the companies helping me get to this year’s Woodhull Sexual Freedom Summit, and I’m very grateful. Check out their selection of body-safe, high-quality sex toys!

Prostate Play & Protocol: Recommending Men’s Sex Toys

Kate Sloan

I love nerding out about D/s with my boyfriend, and one way we do that is by experimenting with protocols together.

I’ve told you before about protocols: recurring action-based rules you can negotiate and establish in a kink dynamic. They’re usually structured as “When x, then y.” Some my partner and I have established in our relationship include: “When little one takes her daily iron supplement, she’ll text Sir and he’ll send her a selfie as a reward.” “When little one gets a drink other than water while she and Sir are out together, Sir gets the first taste.” “When ordered to wear her collar, little one must continue wearing it until she completes any assigned tasks or work and receives permission to remove it.”

A few months ago, while pondering the truism that protocol should ideally enhance and enrich both partners’ lives, my Sir had an idea for a new one. Seeking to harness my sex toy knowledge for his benefit, he assigned me the task of coming up with one toy recommendation for him each month. I’m allowed to gather intel by asking him questions (e.g. “What kinds of toys do you feel are missing from your collection?” “What’s the biggest toy you’ve taken anally, and did you like it?” “Can you have prostate orgasms without external stimulation?”) and then I have to write 500-700 words about the toy I’ve chosen that month, why I chose it, and how I foresee us using it together. He doesn’t have to buy the toy I recommend, but if I make a good case for it, he usually does.

This protocol helps my partner expand his sex toy collection and therefore his pleasure possibilities, and it also helps me feel useful. I’ve loved recommending men’s sex toys in past relationships, because it felt like I was serving my partner by concretely improving his life – so it feels good that this recommendation process is actually structured into my current relationship. I love being of use to my Sir!

So far, I’ve written four of these recs – always due on the 5th of the month, a date we chose together because it doesn’t typically conflict with other writing deadlines of mine. I’ve suggested two anal toys (one vibrating and one not), one stroker, and one vibrator for penises. His two favorites thus far have been the Njoy Pfun and the Hot Octopuss Pulse Solo III (both pictured). In fact, he loves the Pfun so much that he told me he thinks one should be issued for free to everyone who has a prostate!

One of my favorite things about this protocol is that I always submit my recommendation via Google Docs and my partner makes edits, notes, and suggestions using the interface’s built-in editing tools. I’ve always been a teacher’s pet, and I have definite kink feelings about receiving feedback and a grade on my writing (when I’ve consented to that type of scrutiny!). For example, it made me feel smart and accomplished when he complimented me for researching the width allowances of a particular Fleshlight on the /r/BigDickProblems subreddit to make sure it would fit my Sir’s cock. And when I recommended a butt plug because he’d mentioned to me that he didn’t own any, he commented, “I love how closely you listen and pay attention, little one.” Swoon.

Another fave thing about this protocol: getting to use the toys with him. I mean, duh. It’s always fun to use sex toys with someone you’re super into, but doubly so when you picked the toy yourself, for this specific person, for well-researched reasons, and they trusted you enough to buy it on your endorsement alone. Good D/s is all about trust, and I feel that even moreso than usual when I’m blowing my Sir while fucking him with a prostate toy I chose for his particular ass.

I have a lot of romantic feelings about the whole idea of making recommendations. I think, when done well, they’re a way to show your partner (or friend, or family member) you really know them. In the past, I’ve dated game developers who could sleuth out the perfect iPhone game for my particular tastes, music nerds who made me mix CDs of new-to-me gems I instantly loved, and comedy geeks who could say with full confidence, “You’d love this longform improv troupe,” and be right. Knowing someone that well is a talent, and being known that well is a gift. So I’m happy to have yet another way to demonstrate to my partner how much I adore him and want to make him happy!

What about you? Got any cool protocols you’ve been trying out lately? What’s the last sex toy you recommended to someone or had recommended to you? How did that go?

 

Heads up: this post was sponsored. As always, all writing and opinions are my own!

My Favorite Sex Toys For Phone Sex

Kate Sloan

It’s funny how you can be a sex writer for 6+ years and still have so much to learn about so many areas of sex. It’s part of what drew me to this career in the first place: the sense of sexuality as a limitless space, stretching outward forever in all directions, ready to be explored.

One such untapped area for me, until recently, was phone sex. I never knew how much I could enjoy it until I started dating an eloquent, golden-voiced boy… who lives 500 miles away from me. Turns out that when the right conditions are in place, wow, I really like phone sex!

Over time, my partner and I have developed our own phone-sex patterns, rhythms, and techniques. It’s like having a palette of paint colors: you tend to lean hard on your favorites, but there are always other options to experiment with.

Today I’m particularly thinking about the ways we incorporate sex toys into our phone sex. Before I started dating this boy, I never gave much thought to how particular toys sounded, or how they made me sound. But after just a few weeks of frequent phone sex with this brilliant nerd, he started requesting (or demanding) certain toys. Sometimes I’d ask him, “Why that one?” and usually his answer would be, “I like how it makes you sound.” Um, let’s just say that this level of specificity really jives well with my “you knowing exactly how to get me off” kink…

Here are some of our fave toys for phone sex, and why they work so well in that context…

The Magic Wand Rechargeable is an unshakeable classic, a constant companion. When my partner teases me for a long time, not letting me touch my clit at all, it’s often the Magic Wand I eventually beg for. Its four speeds just jive with what my body craves at different levels of arousal, and it can always, always get me off.

One thing I treasure about the Magic Wand is that its simplicity and reliability allow me to take my focus off my clit and concentrate on other things: my partner’s voice, the dildo in my cunt, the plug in my ass, whatever. I need clit stimulation to get off but I don’t always want it to be my main focus, particularly if I’m trying to fantasize about, say, getting fucked or sucking cock or taking a spanking. It may seem weird to describe a vibe as big and bulky as the Magic Wand as unobtrusive, but somehow, it is, and that’s why I like it.

Sir says: “The Magic Wand sounds really, really good over the phone. Something about the frequencies of that vibrator make it audible even when it’s far away from the handset. The different speeds are audible too – when you turn it up, it’s obvious to me, and that’s nice. I usually choose it for you because it’s one of your faves so it’s always charged and it’s usually nearby, which is convenient. And it makes you come really hard.”

The Njoy Pure Wand is the most intensely targeted G-spot toy I’ve ever tried. There is simply nothing else like it. So I can only assume the sounds that come out of my mouth when I use it are also not quite like my sounds with any other toy.

See, G-spot sensations aren’t always my favorite. Unlike floaty clitoral pleasure or deep, rhythmic A-spot stimulation, the feeling of my G-spot being touched can be almost uncomfortably intense for me. It can knock the breath out of me, overwhelming me, overriding my control of my own body. But of course, my boyfriend is a dominant-leaning sadist, so sometimes that’s exactly what he wants. And I always take what he gives me, because I’m a very, very good girl.

Sir says: “Sometimes I’m thinking about your body, and I’m thinking about what parts of you I want to stimulate, and sometimes, just based on your voice and which parts of you I’ve stimulated recently and what I know about you, I decide that it’s a G-spotty day, even though you’re an A-spotty girl and typically you want that deep thrusting. Sometimes I want a G-spotty toy for you but I don’t want a big challenge, a big thick guy; I want something that’ll slip into you easily and really G-spot it up. So that’s the Pure Wand. It’s also really pretty, and versatile, and easy to handle, and it makes you make good high moany sounds.”

The VixSkin Mustang is one of the most realistic toys in my collection. When I put it in my mouth, my salivary glands kick into gear like there’s a real dick in their midst. My tongue and lips adore this toy when I’m feelin’ like a beej queen, and when it hits the back of my throat, I get all subspacey just like I do when a partner face-fucks me.

Used in more traditional ways (i.e. in my vag), this is also a highly effective dildo: satisfyingly G-spotty and pleasantly squishy. But it’s not quite as big as I tend to prefer these days, so I’ll often switch to something girthier if I intend to get off that way.

Sir says: “I choose this one when I miss you a lot. The Mustang – or any realistic dildo, really – is for when I miss you so blindingly much that I want my literal cock inside you, in any of your holes, immediately, and I can’t have that, so a realistic dildo is the closest I can get to that. I also like watching you blow it on video; it’s very very good. I can get into a BJ-receiving headspace watching that very easily, which is very fucking good. It’s dual-density and I like the way you sound when you squeeze your cunt muscles on that toy specifically. It’s like a Casper mattress, you know? Just the right sink, just the right bounce. I can hear a little bit of springiness in the squeeze – I know you so well that I know what it sounds like when you contract your muscles and when you release them, and with the Mustang, there’s a little something extra on the release that’s very enjoyable to hear.”

You can’t write about long-distance sexytimes without mentioning the We-Vibe Sync, or another toy that uses We-Vibe’s proprietary We-Connect app. I always feel like I am truly Living In The Future when a partner controls my vibrator from a whole other country. The app even has built-in text and voice chat features, so it can be your one-stop shop for interactive telecommunicative pleasure.

There is nothing quite like tapping a button on your phone screen and hearing your partner moan or yelp in response, hundreds of miles away. Oh, technology, you astonishing minx.

Sir says: “We haven’t used this one recently or very much, but we should, ’cause it’s really fun! I liked hearing you while I was diddling with the app on my phone, and it stayed connected pretty much the whole time; it was reliable. It’s cool that you can control the two different motors individually. I like that a lot; it gives me some control feelings. I don’t know if it’s enough to get you off by itself; I think it’s a better appetizer than it is an entrée. An aperitif, if you will.”

The Aneros Helix Syn isn’t the exact model of Aneros my partner owns, but the differences between models are pretty subtle. I like listening to him getting off any which way, but his sounds undeniably shift into high gear when there’s a prostate toy involved.

It makes me flash back to times I’ve blown him while working a toy back and forth against his prostate, bringing forth these intensely satisfying moans and shouts. *romantic sigh*

Sir says: “This type of toy, depending on my mood and our dynamic, makes me either super subby or super dommy. It pushes me toward one end of the power spectrum, which is weird. I don’t exactly know why. It either makes me feel like you are fucking me and taking control and I just wanna be a subby good boy and take it and be good and come when you tell me to, or it’s like I’m so powerful and sexual that I can be getting fucked and fucking you at the same time and I’ll just take what I want and as much as I want. So I think I can interpret it either of those ways as a switch, I guess.”

What toys do you like using when you have phone sex? What makes them ideal for that purpose?

 

This post was sponsored by the lovely folks at Friction! They’re one of the companies helping me get to the Woodhull Sexual Freedom Summit this year. Check out their excellent selection of high-quality sex toys!

Love Addiction, “The Pisces,” and Me

Kate Sloan

I’ve never been addicted to a substance. I’ve never been over-reliant on booze or weed or pills. But I have been addicted to romantic fantasies, and let me tell you, the compulsions and withdrawal can feel surprisingly tangible – like something vital is missing from your blood, your bones, and you’d do anything to get it back.

In the last few dying weeks of 2016, I went on a Tinder date which was completely unremarkable, except for what I learned from it. My pre-date banter with this boy was fast and easy, creating the sense of chemistry where perhaps there was just empty charm. The date itself was boring, one of those classic Tinderludes where you work painfully hard to pull dry conversation out of a monosyllabic, nervous stranger. The sex that followed was boring, too: our bodies didn’t fit together right, we didn’t take each other’s hints or make each other giggle, we just loped through the encounter as if on hookup-culture autopilot. The boy left around 2AM and I snuggled up in my bed, alone.

It took me until the next day to realize something was wrong. I felt a profound heaviness in my body, like when I’m hit by depression, yet even more acutely needling. It felt like something I loved had been abruptly taken away from me, even though – much to the contrary – someone I didn’t love had left me alone.

Dissecting these feelings in my journal, I saw that I’d put a lot of stock into this boy in the few days we’d known each other. I’d extrapolated wild compatibility from his brief texts and bland emojis. I’d spun our present into a plausible future. I’d imagined he wanted more from me than just sex, and I’d imagined wanting anything from him. So when the date itself was a disappointment and the boy left, I was shaken – not by the loss of the boy, but by the loss of the fantasy.

This had become, I realized, a pattern in my life. Compulsive swiping was how I dealt with any uncomfortable emotion, from boredom to sadness to fear. No matter what, it felt safe and sparkly to return to a reliable old fantasy: that this next swipe, this next match, this next message would lead me inevitably closer to the love of my life. That I was moments from a meet-cute that would cure my every sore spot. That someone perfect would come along and relieve me from the mundane inadequacy of myself.

The trouble is, when romantic fantasy gets you high, you crash spectacularly hard whenever your romantic hopes are dashed. I saw this in the months to come: a sexting pal told me he was unavailable for a more romantic situation, and I cried; a Tinder match told me he wasn’t actually interested in me because our views on polyamory differed, and I cried; a new FWB stated clearly that he didn’t want me in a romantic way, and I cried. A promising OkCupid boy ghosted me after less than a day of scintillating texts, and I had a total meltdown: nausea, panic, weeping, unsalvageable despair. When the pain of that rejection became unbearable, what did I do? I hopped on Tinder to find someone else to fantasize about. (That next distraction eventually ghosted me too.)

I was in therapy all the while, and probably not being altogether honest about the extent of my addiction. But my therapist, ever-perceptive, asked me once, “How much time would you guess you spend on online dating every week?” and I couldn’t quantify it. There were the hours I spent swiping, and the hours I spent moonily fantasizing, and the hours I spent going on dates, and the hours I spent crying and journaling when the dates didn’t go perfectly. The total seemed incalculable – partly due to the shame of that calculation.

Somewhere around this time, a friend of mine started going to weekly meetings for sex and love addicts. I was surprised to hear this; she had always seemed so level-headed. But looking back, I saw places where maybe our kinship and connection had been based on a shared addiction: we loved debriefing about boys and dates and minute flirtations, and we encouraged each other in these fancies. Where was the line between healthy fun and self-destruction?

Though I wasn’t sure whether my friend’s condition was anything like mine, the phrase kept returning to the forefront of my mind: love addiction. It seemed to fit. The highs of my fantasies were euphoric, like that first sweet hit of a new drug – and the subsequent devastations felt all-consuming, closer to rock bottom every time. In those depressed states, I’d hunt for something, anything, to relieve my sense of loneliness and failure. Alcohol, drugs, shopping, self-harm, exercise, bad TV, more Tinder time – nothing could fill the void. It felt like I needed love, but really what I needed was a healthier relationship to love.

I went to see another friend of mine who had struggled with multiple addictions in the past, and had been through a couple of twelve-step programs. As we sipped milkshakes in my pal’s apartment, they told me, “When I find myself wanting to do something rash, I always just tell myself, ‘If I still want to do it in 15 minutes, I can.’ And I almost never do.” I took their advice to heart: distraction, I knew, was not a long-term strategy, but maybe it could help shake me out of my addiction just enough that I could start recovering.

And recover, I did – slowly, non-linearly, with the help of a therapist and my friends and intermittent partners and lots and lots of writing. Nowadays I can browse Tinder occasionally without hanging my entire livelihood on each swipe, and while I haven’t been on a first date in months, I gather the day after a date would no longer make me feel like death. I’m still careful and self-critical about these behaviors, but I seem to be doing okay.

I hadn’t thought about this stuff in a long time, but then I picked up Melissa Broder’s new novel The Pisces and felt like I was peering through a looking-glass at my early-2017 self. So it seemed like a good time to examine my history with love addiction and write about it here.

Broder is the biting writer behind the viral @SoSadToday account on Twitter, the subsequent depression-soaked essay collection So Sad Today, and a book of poetry called Last Sext, among other things. While I think she deals with mental illness more intense than mine has ever been, her work fixates on themes of love and sex and how they interact with depression and anxiety – so, naturally, I adore her.

Her debut novel, The Pisces, is – as you might already know if you’ve seen any press about it – the story of a woman who falls in love with a merman, and has tons of sex with him. (Yes, a merman, as in a male mermaid. Yes, he lives in the ocean and she lives on land. Yes, he has a dick. It’s under a loincloth.) But at its core, it’s really a novel about love addiction. The protagonist, Lucy, breaks up with her long-term boyfriend at the start of the novel, and falls into a toxic cycle of chasing fantasy men and then being disappointed by them. I found her Tinder tribulations so relatable that I made more Kindle highlights than I’ve ever made in any book, and kept alternately weeping and cackling as I read. “There was something about the morning of a date that tricked me,” Lucy muses, after spending far too much money on lingerie for a tryst that will turn out disastrous-bordering-on-traumatic. “It tricked me out of the haze of being alive. Or perhaps it tricked me out of the sadness of knowing that one day I would die. It punctured the nothingness.” I nodded so hard my teeth chattered.

I saw myself in Lucy’s hapless Tinder dates, and, later, in her pining lovesickness over Theo, the handsome merman she meets near her sister’s beach house. While the novel sets Theo up as potentially being Lucy’s “true love” – the one she’s been waiting for, searching for, longing for – there’s actually no indication that he’s better than any of the online-dating fuckboys who leave her sexually and emotionally dissatisfied. It’s telling that Broder gives her romantically delusional protagonist a dream man who is a literal fantasy creature – and that no other character in the book ever actually sees Theo, so we can’t be entirely sure he exists at all. Isn’t every “true love,” in some sense, a projection, part mirage, a trick of the light?

Far from being the wild merman sex romp it’s been marketed as, The Pisces is a deeply philosophical novel that struggles with huge themes of love, emptiness, and contentment. It spends more time picking apart the whys and hows of romantic addiction than it does describing Theo’s scaly tail or the logistics of his underwater life. We know more about Lucy’s fears, fantasies, and yearnings than we ever know about Theo. But that’s the way of the love addict: making other people into a goal or a punchline, rather than allowing them to just be people.

By the end of the novel, Lucy seems to understand herself a little better, and to have a better handle on what she actually needs. I cried when I finished this book: I cried for Lucy, and for Theo, and for myself. At one point in the story, Lucy quips, “I didn’t want to be seen too closely or I might have to look at me too,” and that’s how The Pisces made me feel: seen, looked at, called out. But ultimately it served as a reminder of the habits I’d hate to fall back into, the fantasies I can no longer rely on, and the emptiness I no longer need to feel.

The Pisces
by Melissa Broder Hardcover
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