Vibe Diaries: My Vital Vibrator Memories

Kate Sloan

New Year’s Eve 2007. I am 15 years old. Do they even let 15-year-olds into sex shops? I’m panicking and pacing outside my local feminist vibrator vendor. “Do they even let 15-year-olds into sex shops?” I ask my friend, who has brought me here today.

She shrugs. “I’ve been in before and no one said anything to me about age restrictions.” I gulp and follow her into the clean, quiet little shop.

After much deliberation – and, inevitably, too much giggling – I pick out a rubber duck vibrator and pay for it at the cash register. It’s not a great toy, or even a good one, not by 2018 standards, but teenage-me loves it. She takes it home, nicknames it Olivia (after Olivia Wilde), has many orgasms with it, and keeps it hidden in a pink hatbox beside her bed like a secret pleasure relic.

But first, she goes to a New Year’s party, gets drunk, and announces to the whole room of near-strangers that she just bought her first vibrator. What does it mean to be 15 if not to make an ass of yourself in public?

Spring 2008. The close friend who’s soon to become my first friend-with-benefits pulls me aside at a party. “Here it is,” she says, and hands me a plastic grocery bag containing a purple rabbit vibrator.

I asked her to bring this vibe tonight, because ever since she bought it last week, I’ve been curious as hell about it. Dual-stimulation? A twisting shaft, rotating beads, and buzzing bunny ears? Ever the burgeoning sex nerd, I gotta try this thing out for myself. And luckily, my friend is willing to let me give hers a test drive. What a pal.

I abscond to the bathroom and shove the thing into myself, unlubed and unaroused – so it’s no wonder I instantly hate it. “I don’t think it’s really my thing,” I tell my friend later when I return the vibe to her after cleaning it. Dual-stimulation vibes, still to this day, don’t do much for me – but I wonder if I’d like them more if my first foray into that category had been a bit more ceremonious.

Summer 2009 (ish). Having grown ever-so-slightly more discerning with age – not to mention braver – I wander back to the sex shop with a modest budget and a mission. It’s time for a vibrator upgrade.

After testing every single vibe on my hand, I settle on the Slimline G. Considered a “beginner-friendly” classic for a reason, it’s remarkably powerful for its price point, and made of hard plastic so it won’t burn your innards with phthalate fumes.

It’s also rumblier than the rubber duck, a concept I don’t yet have language for but can feel when I touch the toy to my skin. At 17, I don’t know about motor mechanics; I just know my new vibe triggers orgasms more easily and more pleasurably than I’m used to. I nickname this one Gavin, after an androgynous crush from Flickr. My sex toy collection is still small enough that I can individually name each toy, like they compose a happy family living in my hatbox.

Winter 2010. I take a sexually inexperienced friend to a sex shop – that same shop that was my first, so many years ago. She does a thing I no doubt did when I first came here, but didn’t realize, until now, that I’d probably done: she whispers. Like we’re in a library. Or a vibrary, I guess you could say.

“What does this one do?” she asks in the meekest little voice. “Isn’t this one a little big? How do these even work?”

I find myself feeling breezily confident as I answer her questions; my courage flows to complement the way hers is ebbing. We eventually settle on a bullet vibrator that meets her specifications.

When I see her at school the next morning, she’s glowing, grinning, a changed girl. “That vibrator is really something,” she announces, not whispering at all. I smile back at my dear friend.

Summer 2011. I’m dating a cis man for the first time and I just… can’t figure out this whole penis-in-vagina-sex thing. How do people do this? Why do people enjoy this? How do people get off from this?!

My partner wants nothing more than to make me come this way, however, so I give it a shot. I supply my own “extra” external stimulation during the act, first with my hand, and later with a clitoral vibrator. It takes focus, and effort, and determination, but eventually – with him thrusting inside me and me white-knuckling a vibe against my finicky clit – I come, and it’s quite unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.

I wipe the sweat off my brow and announce, “We did it!” My boyfriend just laughs and keeps fucking me. He’s well-accustomed to what a weirdo I am by now.

 

This post was generously sponsored by the folks at The Adult Toy Shop. As always, all writing and opinions are my own.

10 Things I’ve Learned From 10 Years of Sex

Kate Sloan

Ten years ago today, I made my sexual debut with a rainbow-haired girl in a sweltering attic bedroom. I prefer this phrasing – “made my sexual debut” – over the more traditional “lost my virginity,” because, as many wise people have pointed out before me, virginity is a construct that serves only to bolster the patriarchy, alienate queer folks and other sexual “deviants,” and disconnect us from our own bodily autonomy. It shouldn’t be the huge deal our culture makes it into – and yet, I also acknowledge that it was a huge deal for me. I felt different the next day, like things had shifted. They had. And they’ve continued to.

Here are 10 big lessons I’ve learned in 10 years of having sex…

Sex with men isn’t necessarily terrifying. The thought of sex with dudes gave me terrible anxiety for years before I tried it. Granted, this was partly because I was further toward the gay end of the sexuality spectrum at that point, but it was also a fear of the unknown. I had bought into media myths about how men are unreasonably horny cads who “only want one thing.” Yeah, there are men like that, but most of the ones I’ve dated and/or fucked have been comparatively lovely. I’m much more inclined now to view men as individual, variable humans than as part of an unsettling monolithic group – and my sex life is better as a result.

All genitals are basically similar. Speaking of “We’re not that different, you and I…” – it was revelatory for me to learn, from sex ed books and general experimentation, that the analogous tissues in vulvas and penises have way more similarities than mainstream media would have you believe. This anatomical knowledge helps me map, in broad strokes, my own bodily self-knowledge onto other people’s bodies, even if they look quite different from mine. It’s much easier to navigate other people’s genitals when I’m mostly thinking about how each feature relates to my own, and how each part likes to be touched.

Sex isn’t love, and love isn’t sex. It’s almost embarrassing to have had to learn something that seems like it should be so obvious. Mainstream media mocks women (and anyone, really, but mostly women) who confuse sex for love, so it took me a while to even realize I was making this mistake, because I considered myself above it. But there have been multiple times in my sexual career when sexual compatibility (or even just one really good fuck) has equipped me with rose-tinted glasses, rounding up decent sex into star-crossed romance. An ex-boyfriend from 2017 told me when he was breaking up with me that “aside from our sex life and our intellectual connection, we don’t really have anything in common,” and it took me many months to understand what he was trying to say: that good sex and good repartée weren’t enough to build a relationship on. My current relationship is fulfilling both sexually and romantically, and I feel I’ve gotten better at recognizing that type of connection when it’s there – and recognizing when it isn’t there.

“Why” is just as important as “what.” I’ve learned this lesson particularly with regards to kink, though it really applies to all forms of sex. You can’t really know someone’s sexuality just by knowing which activities they like to do; you have to know why they like to do them. For example, some people enjoy being spanked because they like feeling punished or humiliated; I, on the other hand, like it because I like feeling focused on, and I enjoy the meditative and cathartic elements of consensual pain. If you know what acts someone likes, you can give them a satisfying experience on the physical level – but to satisfy them more deeply, more electrically, you need to know why they like what they like. Likewise: you’re unlikely to find deep satisfaction for yourself through kink and sex unless you know specifically what motivates you to pursue these things.

Giving pleasure can be delicious. I was a very bottomy bottom when I first started having sex: my first-ever friendship-with-benefits was basically a year and a half of her going down on me, because that’s what we both were into. We had fun, but those experiences left me with a skewed understanding of sexuality. I wasn’t sure how to get pleasure out of giving pleasure, because I had never really done it. It took years of further experimentation with other people – and, eventually, discovering bliss through blowjobs – for me to realize all I’d been missing out on. Now I’m much more egalitarian in my approach to sex, and being a servicey good girl is key to my kinks.

“Romantic sex” is whatever you say it is. The traditional concept of “making love” is all about slowness, gentleness, meaningful eye contact, and whispered I-love-yous. It never appealed to me much, because – spoiler alert – I’m kinky as fuck, and like rough sex. It took me many years to figure out that kinky sex can be romantic too. I’ve rarely felt as loved or in love as I do when a partner’s just consensually pushed me to my masochistic limits, or spent 40 slow minutes working me up to take his fist little by little. If you expand your idea of what constitutes “romance” in sex, you expand your capacity to feel love, and that’s a beautiful thing.

Communication is crucial. I was very lucky that my first sexual partner was a sex nerd like me. We liked to stay up late on MSN Messenger, deconstructing our latest sex session in excruciating detail and planning what we wanted to try the next time. That relationship set the tone for all my sexcapades going forward: I not only enjoyed sexual communication, but actively craved it and needed it to feel fully comfortable and satisfied by sex. Whether we’re negotiating a session before it happens, discussing adjustments mid-bang, or debriefing after the fact, I always appreciate the opportunity to talk about sex with the people I’m fucking. Far from “killing the moment” or “ruining the magic” as popular discourse would have us believe, it makes everything so much smoother and hotter.

Kink transcends the bedroom. Earlier this year, I had a deliciously kink-nerdy conversation with my boyfriend in a fancy cocktail bar. We were discussing whether our D/s dynamic is technically 24/7 or not – and we came to the conclusion that it is, because even though we’re not “in role” all the time, he is always, on some higher level, the boss of me. I have the freedom to say no to anything at any time, but I have consensually given him my power, and we’re both always aware of that as we move through our lives together and apart. “I used to hear about 24/7 D/s relationships on shows like Sex is Fun and think, ‘That’s not for me; that’s not what I want,'” I told my boyfriend incredulously. “I thought that too!” he said. “And yet, here we are.” I’ve learned that submission is more satisfying for me when it extends outside of sex. I want to please someone so much more in a sexual scenario if pleasing them is also part of our connection more generally, our relationship, my daily life. This is part of the reason one-night stands don’t really appeal to me anymore!

Sex amplifies emotions. For me, anyway. I know not everyone is wired this way, and some people even get offended when you imply sex is connected to feelings. I personally have never really been able to separate sex from my emotions, and I no longer really want to try. Kink can stir up catharsis; bad sex can ruin an otherwise harmonious relationship; good sex can make me think I like someone more than I actually do. This isn’t to say I necessarily fall in love with everyone who fucks me well – I’ve been banging my current FWB for over a year, for example, and the most I ever feel toward him is a profound but platonic fondness – but the link between my sexuality and my feelings is important for me to keep in mind when I’m deciding which sexual experiences to pursue. It’s part of why I eschew sex on the first date now, and it’s why I tend to avoid kink with new partners on emotionally precarious days. Self-awareness is so helpful!

There is always more to learn about sex. I’ve been a professional sex writer for over six years and I still constantly discover new kinks, new subcultures, new sexual acts, new relationship styles, and new sexual communication tricks. This is largely what drew me to my career path: the sense that sexuality is infinite, and infinitely interesting. I don’t think I’ll ever stop growing and changing as a sexual person. Unlike the Buddhists, who believe desire is a torturous trap, I believe to want things is to be uplifted, inspired, and propelled forward. I hope I keep developing new desires for the rest of my life.

What did you learn in your first decade of having sex?

Behind the Seams: Yellow Shoes & Pink Wine

Kate Sloan

June 22nd, 2018. It’s become tradition that my Sir chooses my outfit for days when he arrives in Toronto to visit me for a weekend. I mean, he chooses my outfits at plenty of other times, too, but this tradition feels particularly salient because he usually sends me my instructions a few days in advance, and then I get to spend those days picturing how he will remove those specific clothes from my body once we’re finally, finally together again.

I had just bought these new yellow shoes so he wanted me to wear a yellow-centric outfit to complement them. This T-shirt is one of many romantic mementos in our relationship because I bought it at a merch stand at Brooklyn Steel the night he took me to see my favorite band there. I still remember swaying sweatily in that lineup, my eyes fixing on this bright yellow tee that looked as radiantly optimistic as my heart felt that night.

As per usual for Sir’s weekend visits, I got ready far too early because I was far too excited. To pass the time until he finally pulled up at my door, I went on a long walk, then sat on a bench in the sun for a while reading Social Creature, a super striking novel that I loved a whole bunch. Then I tottered back to my apartment building in time to meet Sir out the front, kiss him at the door, kiss him in my elevator, and kiss him lots more in my bed.

What I’m wearing:
• Yellow unisex Hippo Campus T-shirt – bought at their merch table when they played at Brooklyn Steel
• Black denim short-shorts – H&M
• Lotta From Stockholm peeptoe clogs in “Summer Yellow”

June 23rd, 2018. It wouldn’t be a Sir-and-little-one weekend if there wasn’t at least one fancy night out on the sched. Sir chose this outfit for me before we hopped in an Uber to La Banane, a gorgeous French seafood restaurant. We sat at the bar (he always wants to sit at the bar, so we’re closer together and he can touch me more) and he ordered me some orgasmic cocktails and taught me how to eat oysters.

After dinner, we walked over to my friend Anais‘ house for a small get-together with some old pals from high school. It was fun to introduce my love to all these people I’ve known for years. He kept my glass of rosé topped up while we chatted and laughed until late. It was a nerdy group, so we got into heated debates about Harry Potter trivia and Mozart music, natch.

As much as I love being out and about with my daddy, it’s equally nice when we head back to my place and I get to melt into little-space, safe in his arms. I think he hit me with a leather bat a bunch when we arrived back at my apartment, and it was a totally dreamy end to our evening.

What I’m wearing:
• Pink hair scrunchie – American Apparel years ago
• Blue suede collar – L’Amour-Propre
• Black/white/pink rose-print dress – CowCow
• Lotta From Stockholm peeptoe clogs in “Summer Yellow”

June 26th, 2018. On Sir’s last day in Toronto this weekend, we went for lunch with my brother at the Lakeview. I ordered an all-day breakfast special, because bacon and eggs are the food of the gods.

Later, after Sir and I had returned to my apartment for lots more sweet cuddly sex (we’re horndogs, okay), I put on this casual outfit for our traditional end-of-weekend debrief over cocktails at Northwood. He ordered me a Lady Grey Sour and then a Southside, and we cuddled on a church pew, talking about our favorite parts of the weekend and when we planned to see each other next. Then we made out in front of the bar like a couple of teenagers while we waited for his taxi to arrive. I only cried a little as I watched him zoom away toward the airport.

What I’m wearing:
• Pink hair scrunchie – American Apparel
• Blue suede collar – L’Amour-Propre
• Black Apple logo T-shirt – a gift from Sir, bought on a business trip he’d recently been on (he told me it makes me look like a hot Apple Store employee who’s too introverted to work the sales floor and hangs out in the back instead)
• Black hand-me-down’ed Danier Leather jacket adorned with pins from Kinktionary and L’Amour-Propre
• Black shorts – H&M
• Lotta From Stockholm peeptoe clogs in “Summer Yellow”

5 Must-Have Props For a Forced-Orgasm Scene

Kate Sloan

Sometimes you finally act out a fantasy you’ve been dreaming of for years, and it’s disappointing and not at all what you expected. Other times, you try something you never even suspected you’d find hot, and it instantly becomes your new favorite thing.

And then there are times when you try something you’ve been curious about for ages, and it turns out to be exactly as hot in reality as it was in fantasy, if not moreso. That’s how I felt about forced-orgasm play when I first tried it.

The “forced orgasm” moniker covers a wide gamut of possible scenarios. A menacing femdom milks her sub’s cock to extract his cum for nefarious purposes. A daddy dom gets his sick little girl off to make her feel better. A mad scientist hooks his hapless subject up to a Venus 2000 to observe what happens after orgasm #5. A Victorian doctor administers hysterical paroxysm via electric vibrator for his patient’s own good.

See what I mean? Hot as fuck.

You can keep it simple when doing forced-orgasm play, and just tell your partner to stay still while you do all the dirty things to them that you know make them come the hardest. But toys, restraints, and other props can add a lot to this fantasy. Here are my top 5 suggestions for products that can take your forced-orgasm scene from “You gonna come for me?” to “That’s my good slut, there you go, just like that…”

Under-the-bed restraints. These are my favorite foolproof way to add an element of bondage into a scene. Once they’re installed on your bed, they barely require any effort to get into: one partner just has to strap the other person into all four cuffs, which takes long enough to build thrilling anticipation but not so long as to get tiresome. Once your partner is all spread out and tied down, you’ll have full access to their bits and can get down to business. (Pro tip: slide a pillow or a Liberator Jaz under their hips before you restrain them if you want a better angle for anal penetration, going down on them, riding their cock, or various other fun things.)

A wand vibrator. Wands are sort of the go-to toys for forced-orgasm play, since their notoriously strong vibrations can add to the sense that they’re “inducing” an orgasm against your will. My two faves for this purpose are the Magic Wand Rechargeable and Doxy Die Cast, although if you want something smaller/lighter/easier to wield, I can also heartily recommend the Jimmyjane Iconic Wand and Doxy Number Three. It’s fun to hold a wand against the genitals of someone who can’t squirm away from the intense sensations. Bonus points if you slide your fingers or a dildo inside them at the same time, overwhelming them with feelings they can’t escape. 😈

A blindfold. Taking away someone’s sense of sight heightens their other senses, which is particularly fun in a scene that’s all about providing an onslaught of sensation. Get a soft one that’s contoured to the face; they’ll probably be wearing it for a while, so it should be comfy and stay put!

Lube. For some people, a little strategic dryness might increase the exciting “non-consensual” element of the fantasy – but in general, you’re gonna wanna keep things wet, especially if you’re doing any kind of penetration. Pick something thick and long-lasting, like Sliquid Sassy or The Butters. If you’re doing some kind of medical-play scene, the slow application of cold lube may even add to the clinical feeling you’re going for.

A Fun Factory pulsator. These are expensive and definitely a nice-to-have, not a need-to-have. However, if you enjoy the fantasy of a “fucking machine” but don’t want to spend thousands of dollars, these are the next best thing. Slide a Stronic toy into your partner’s hole and keep it in place by putting a pillow or a Liberator toy against its handle. The toy will bounce faithfully against their G-spot or prostate, freeing you up to do other delightful stuff to the rest of their body!

Have you ever done a forced-orgasm scene? What toy(s) did you use?

 

Thanks so much to Peepshow Toys for sponsoring this post! They’re one of the companies helping me get to the Woodhull Sexual Freedom Summit this year. Check out their great selection of body-safe sex toys!

Doing It Yourself: On Couples’ Toys and Self-Love

Kate Sloan

“So you’re a sex toy reviewer? That must be fun!”

I’ve heard this countless times, in countless ways. Everyone wants to believe my job is a fun romp, a 24/7 deluge of tactile pleasure and giggly orgasms. And sometimes it is. But sometimes it decidedly isn’t.

Like when, for example, I’m frustratingly single and get yet another offer in my inbox to review the latest couples’ toy.

In early 2017, I went to a training session hosted at my workplace by a We-Vibe rep, and won a brand-new Sync vibrator by answering some trivia questions correctly. “You should review it on your blog!” a coworker chirped at me as I left at the end of the night, and at first I felt buoyed and buzzy at the thought. But as I strolled home with the Sync burning a proverbial hole in my pocket, the knowledge settled with a thud that I had no one with whom to test the toy in a partnered-sex setting.

“Just go to a sex club or ask a Tinder dude,” that same coworker suggested when we talked about it again later. But it wasn’t and isn’t that simple. Contrary to what the creeps who DM me asking to “help [me] test toys” seem to believe, that process isn’t actually a very sexy one. There are missteps and mistakes. There is silicone digging into flesh and metal pinching skin. There’s my endless barrage of questions during and after: “Does this feel good for you?” “Is it easy to control?” “What are your criticisms of it?” I’ll happily get nerdy and overanalytical with a like-minded steady partner, when I have one – but I don’t always have one. And casual partners aren’t always a safe bet for this exercise in vulnerability.

That episode with the Sync wasn’t the only time the concept of a “couples’ toy” sunk me into self-doubt and self-pity. There was the time I requested a sex swing, imagining optimistically that I’d meet someone awesome in time to review it, but ended up pawning it off on a friend and her partner when it became clear that wasn’t going to happen. There was the time I scored my then-boyfriend We-Vibe’s new cock ring and he broke up with me before we got to give it a fair shake. There was the Fleshlight I used to use with a boyfriend, until we split up and it lay unused in a drawer in my bedroom, developing mould. What a potent metaphor for love gone sour.

When you get into a feedback loop where your line of work makes you sad because it reminds you of everything you’re missing in your personal life, you know it’s time to make a change. Long periods of singlehood taught me to embrace taking myself on dates, enjoying my own company, and showing myself the love I deserved – so why not fuck myself like a partner would, too? Including, sometimes, with toys designed for “couples”?

This meant getting more creative than my typical routine of holding a wand vibe against my clit in silence until I came. I took my Liberator Wedge out from under my bed, dusted it off, and began using it to tilt my hips for deeper penetration during masturbation. I slipped my Sync inside me and controlled it from my phone, revelling in the high-tech glee of it. I wore my favorite butt plug on café expeditions or long walks, not because a dom had told me to, but just to give myself pleasure.

I started deliberately prepping for solo sex like I would for hot dates. I’d drape myself in lacy lingerie, spritz on some intoxicating perfume, play sultry music to underscore my moans. I’d touch myself all over before zeroing in on my genitals, wanting the drawn-out tease I usually only got from partners. I’d soak in the tub beforehand, or bring out my most far-fetched fantasies, or watch whatever weird porn I felt like watching – anything to maximize my pleasure in the face of societal messaging that tells us the heights of sexual joy are only for the coupled.

When I did start dating seriously again, I found that my habit of decadent solo sex had taught me to enjoy partnered sexuality even more deeply. I moaned more loudly, felt things more fully. I asked for what I wanted, because I knew what that was. When I pulled out “couples’ toys” to try with a new beau, I already knew how they worked, and didn’t have to rely on my partner to puzzle out the instructions and introduce me to my own pleasure.

Sex toys help me connect with other people, but even more crucially, they help me connect with myself. I don’t know if I agree with the common wisdom that you’ve got to love yourself before anyone else can love you, but I do know it’s a whole lot easier for a partner to make you come if you’ve proven to yourself you deserve to feel that good.

 

Thanks so much to SheVibe for sponsoring this post! Check out their great selection of sex toys.