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!

Behind the Seams: “Weekend with the Boyf” Edition

Kate Sloan

May 26th, 2018. My boyfriend was visiting from New York for 3 whole days – the longest stretch of time we’ve ever gotten to spend together – so we decided to make it count by cramming in as many nights out as possible. (And also a lot of time for sex, natch.)

We’d pre-planned a Fancy Date Night. He wore a dark grey suit and looked so handsome I felt a bit faint every time I looked at him. I wore this: a tight, curvaceous, asymmetrical, blue velvet dress I’d bought months previous and had never actually worn out. It felt too sexy or too fancy for every occasion I considered it for – except this one: a night out with my beloved.

We took a car up to North York for dinner at Auberge au Pommier, a fine French restaurant with an achingly beautiful garden patio. I had a cocktail called the Baiser Volé (which translates to “Stolen Kiss”!) and a blissful black truffle risotto I’m still fantasizing about. Damn.

Then we cuddled in our Uber all the way to the Bad Dog Theatre to see Hookup, an improv show with an ingenious format: the improvisors choose two random people from the audience, interview them about their likes, dislikes, and defining traits, and then perform a short improvised play about what would happen if those two people hooked up. We laughed so hard we cried and couldn’t breathe. It was a fantastic night.

What I’m wearing:
• Dark blue velvet dress – Forever 21
• Blue suede collar – L’Amour-Propre
• Black leather Frye harness boots
• Pale blue Coach Mercer satchel
• (In one of the photos) Boyfriend’s suit jacket, because it was chilly at night and he’s a gentleman

May 27th, 2018. One of my favorite areas in Toronto is the Distillery District, so I’ve been wanting to take my darlin’ there for a while. He made us a reservation at El Catrin, a well-reviewed Mexican restaurant in the Distillery, and we trekked across town to get there. We drank incredible margaritas and ate wonderful food and made heart-eyes at our cute waiter. Perf.

Then we took the subway back over to the west side of the city and stopped into Northwood (our fave!) for a drink. I ordered a mint julep (or, rather, le boyf ordered it for me) and it was perfectly refreshing for this hot, sweaty day.

Then we walked over to Comedy Bar to see Crimson Wave, the weekly feminist stand-up comedy night there. The show itself was hilarious, but actually one of my most treasured memories from this night was the few minutes we spent in the bar lobby before the show started, nerding out together over Angels in America, my favorite play. (We were debating what we think Prior sees when he looks through the peep-stones.) Guhhh, I’m so in love.

What I’m wearing:
• Purple lipstick-print dress – CowCow
• Blue suede collar – L’Amour-Propre
• Pink polka-dotted kneesocks – ?
• Black leather Frye harness boots
• Pale blue Coach Mercer satchel

May 28th, 2018. On our last afternoon before he had to head to the airport to go back to New York, we went to the Federal for brunch and then back to Northwood to do our traditional post-date debrief over cocktails. I had a Southside and a Corpse Reviver #2, both flawless. We kept getting distracted from our conversation by the easy competence of the pretty bartender who was training some new staff on how to make cocktails while making several perfect ones for us.

I also gave a fairly stellar blowjob in this outfit before we left my apartment in the morning, but that’s neither here nor there…

What I’m wearing:
• Blue and white gingham dress – H&M
• Blue suede collar – L’Amour-Propre
• Black leather Frye harness boots
• Pale blue Coach Mercer satchel
• Red lipstick I was testing for a forthcoming part 2 of my blowjob lipsticks post (JUST YOU WAIT!)

What’s your summer aesthetic lookin’ like so far?

6 Summer Beauty Tips From a Sweaty Sex Blogger

Kate Sloan
This photo was taken in 2010 but it’s still an accurate representation of how I wish to live my life.

Summer is officially upon us. Ah, the season of chub rub, sunscreen, and constant sweat. How I have missed thee.

As a femme, I am well aware that summer necessitates a different approach to skincare, makeup, and hairstyling than the rest of the year – at least, if you live somewhere with extreme seasons, like my hometown of Toronto. Here are some of my favorite beauty tips that only (or mostly) come into play in the summertime…

Get you a decent longwear lipstick. Hassle-free lipstick is lovely all year round, but I find it’s particularly called for in summer: I spend a lot of that season sweating, kissing, drinking cocktails on patios, giving head, and eating messy street meat, among other potentially lipstick-obliterating activities.

I’ll be writing about this in more detail in the future, but for now, here are my top recommendations. If you want bold color, try a budge-proof liquid lip like Maybelline Matte Ink or Kat Von D Everlasting Liquid Lipstick. If you want a subtler look, try a tinted lip balm, or “balm stain,” like this one by Revlon or this one by GlamGlow. You’ll probably want to throw the lipstick, a compact mirror, and some tissues into your bag incase you need to reapply, but with some lip products (I’m lookin’ at you, Maybelline Matte Ink!), I find I almost never have to.

Make your hair a nest of bobby pins. God, I love bobby pins. They are ideal for a wide variety of hair issues that come up in the summer, and at lots of other times, too. I use them to keep flyaway baby hairs in check, to anchor pigtails and buns to my head, and to pin errant sections of fringe out of the way in case of sudden oral sex (hey, it’s important!).

Here are a few of my favorite bobby-pin-centric summer hairstyles:

  • Using hair elastics, pull your hair into two high pigtails, but only pull the hair partially through the elastic, so you end up with tight little pigtail buns. Position them how you want them and then pin them in place.
  • While the rest of your hair is in a ponytail, two braids, or really whatever style you want, comb the front part of your hair forward and then flip it back into a pompadour shape. (Back-comb the back side of this section of hair if you need some extra volume.) Position it how you want it, pin it into place, and add hairspray as needed.
  • Gather your hair into a loose bun on the top of your head using an elastic. (Brush and/or back-comb it before you do this if you want it extra floofy.) Pull parts of it out, move it around, etc. until it looks the way you want it, then pin it in place.
  • Fold a bandana (color chosen according to the hanky code, natch) diagonally, and again, and again, until it’s a thin strip. Tie it around your head, with the center of the bandana at the back/base of your skull and the ends just above the center of your hairline (or off-center, if you prefer). Anchor it in place with bobby pins (I usually do one in front of each ear and one through the knot at the top).

Slather on some coconut oil before shaving. Damn, I love this shit. Beauty experts will often tell you to moisturize after shaving, since your skin might be dry and/or irritated at that time, but I get even better results when I moisturize before I shave. For blissfully smooth legs, underarms, and labia, I like to rub some coconut oil into my skin 15-30 minutes before getting in the shower, and maybe add some more after I’m done shaving. Best!

Defeat your chub rub. For those unaware, chub rub is the irritation that can occur where skin rubs together on the body, particularly once you introduce heat, sweat, and/or a lot of walking into the equation. Between the thighs is a common spot, though it can happen in other areas too.

Different people have different ways of dealing with chub rub, according to the area(s) it afflicts them and how severe it is for them. Here are some solutions I can recommend:

  • Monistat Chafing Relief Powder-Gel is my go-to, ever since a friend insisted I buy some a few years back. It’s chemically similar to a thick silicone-based lube (see below), so it helps my thighs glide over each other rather than rubbing roughly together when I walk. It also supposedly aids with moisture control, cutting down on friction even further. Love love love!
  • My friend Bex recommends Uberlube – another silicone-based product – for chub rub. Like the Monistat gel, it’s slick but also a wee bit powdery, the ideal combo for this summertime complaint.
  • Some people swear by deodorant or antiperspirant as a chub rub cure. I used to put some between my thighs on summer days and it worked pretty well.
  • When I really need to ensure I’ll avoid chub rub – like when I’m planning on going for a long walk and don’t want to be in agony by the end of it – I’ll wear little bike shorts under my dress or skirt. These also, conveniently, prevent you from accidentally flashing bystanders if you happen to be rocking a short hemline on a windy day, or if you walk over a subway grate, Marilyn-style.

Wear a “bed scent.” I love this idea, which I first read about in the Dry Down. Rachel Syme recommends wearing perfume to bed, as “a comfort, a balm, a tangible curtain between the waking hours and the dreaming ones.” I would imagine this works best when you maintain some consistency: after all, a scent you spritz on only in bed at night could have a Pavlovian effect and drag you down into sleep more easily.

Notes typically associated with sleepytime include lavender, chamomile, and sandalwood; Syme also recommends oud. So try filtering by those notes on your favorite perfume site (I like IndieScents) and ordering some samples to try. (Also feel free to peruse my past writing on perfume if you need recs. And there’s always the Dry Down.)

Summer is a time when I crave quotidian glamour – when I’m likely to, for example, decadently moisturize my entire body while listening to chill jazz, or prance around my room in high heels having no intention of leaving the house – and the notion of a “bed scent” fits in perfectly with that pursuit. Sometimes you just want to feel beautiful, slinky, and delicious for purely your own sake.

Don’t forget your sunscreen!! I can’t always be arsed to put it all over my body, but at the very least, I put some on my face, my upper chest, and my visible tattoos when I know I’ll be getting some sun. I don’t want my face to wrinkle or my tattoos to fade any sooner than they have to! Plus there’s that whole “skin cancer” thing…

My top pick for sun protection is Neutrogena Ultra-Sheer Dry-Touch Sunblock. “Dry-touch” is a bit of a laugh – it’s greasy, like almost all sunscreens, in my experience – but if I put a little translucent powder over the top, I’m fine. This one doesn’t break me out like lots of other sunscreens have in the past. Consider lip balm with SPF in it, too; I like the ones by Nivea.

What beauty tips ‘n’ tricks get you through the summer?

A Second Date in a Golden Room

Kate Sloan

Little one: I’m nervous and excited and nervous and excited about tomorrow
Sir: You like me so much you’re redundant
Little one: It wasn’t redundant, it was exactly the right amount of both things
Sir: Ughhhh. I want you. But I guess I gotta sleep one more time.
Little one:😭
Sir: Good night my sweet princess
Little one: Good night daddy. I hope you dream about all the things you want to do to/with/on me
Sir: Gulp. I will.

Our second date is at 7PM and I start getting ready at 2PM.

I can’t help it. I’ve been waiting so long for this night to come. An entire month. A month of slow-burn phone calls and scintillating sexts. A month of kink negotiation and feeling our way into our respective roles. A month of vulnerability, self-disclosure, learning, and (maybe) starting to fall in love.

I put my makeup on with precision and care. I step into red lace panties and clasp my matching bra. I slither into my tight black velvet dress, chosen weeks previous for this occasion specifically, tried on far too many times.

The other beau I’m staying with humors me and agrees to depart on our drive into the city at 5PM, which is fucking ridiculous. I know exactly how ridiculous it is. But I just. can’t. wait. any longer.

Sir: Turns out I’m also doing the way-too-early thing. But the café I’m at is closing at 6, so let me find somewhere better where we can meet
Little one: Oh my god that makes me feel so much better, I’m stressing so much about how early I’m gonna be hahah
Sir: Yeah I knew you would be. So I left early so you wouldn’t be alone
Little one: SIR
Sir: Little one. Gregory’s Coffee is open til 7.
Little one: I just read that exchange out loud to Dick and he was like, “Remember that. He’s a good one.”

My beau pulls over on a Manhattan side street and we hug and kiss goodbye. I try not to cry, lest I mess up the makeup I painstakingly applied hours ago. I smooth on some red lipstick in the rearview mirror and step out of the car. And then I wheel my little suitcase off into the night, wearing a cocktail dress and a knee-length winter coat. Stinging tears freeze on my cheeks in the January cold.

I glance up and down skittishly between the map on my phone and the street signs I pass. Two more blocks. My heart skips around wildly in my chest. One more block. I struggle to regulate my breathing and eventually give up. Half a block left. And then I see him.

He’s in an impeccable navy suit and shiny shoes, and he’s holding the door of the café open for me, and I feel like a goddamn princess. A princess who’s sweating through her coat.

We go in and sit down. He hands me his half-drunk cup of peppermint tea, and oh boy do I need it, because I am having an active anxiety attack. “Look at this,” I say helplessly as I hold out my shaking hands in front of me. “Do you see this?” He reminds me to breathe, and I sip the tea, and stare at this person I’ve talked to on the phone for dozens of hours but have only seen in person one other time before. It’s… surreal.

He holds my hand from across the table, calm and calming, as we catch up about our days. I start to feel a bit more normal, maybe. Or at least like I can handle these jitters if I put my mind to it.

As our dinner reservation nears, we pack up, put our coats on, and head out into the night. I’m still shaking a little, but I hide it well.

Little one: You have such nice long fingers. I noticed on our coffee date ’cause I’m a slut
Sir: Ooh, thinking about my hands. That’s hot. You noticed before we even kissed, wow
Little one: If I want to fuck someone, I always think about their hands
Sir: You’re a good little slut
Little one: I just know what I like. And I like your hands a lot
Sir: I wish I had held yours when we were walking back from the Breather
Little one: Aww. Yeah, that walk was weird. I wasn’t sure if you’d want to see me again
Sir: Oh nooo. Sorry, I was definitely reeling a little and worried that I had been gone too long and you were subspacey. A lot happened real fast. But yes, wanted to see you again aggressively.

He takes my hand immediately and easily once we’re outside. Like he’s been waiting a month to do that. Because he has.

We walk the block or two to Upland, easily one of the prettiest, fanciest restaurants I’ve ever been inside. While taking my coat, he leans in close and says, “Barack and Michelle love it here,” with an offhandedness I can’t quite believe. It just adds to my sense of this evening as something that isn’t really happening to me, but rather, is maybe a decadent hallucination I’m having from my bed at home in Toronto. That’s the only explanation that makes sense.

Our table isn’t ready yet, so we head to the bar and he orders me a cocktail without asking me what I want. It’s the sort of thing that would offend me if someone did it unprompted, but we’ve pre-negotiated this in many late-night chats, so it just sends a thrill through me. It reinforces the D/s dynamic we’ve been building, slowly and deliberately, over the phone. It shows me that his dominance is grounded in my reality.

He smirks at me as I taste it. It’s perfect, of course.

Little one: I’m really happy we’re going on a dinner date before we bang… because I think otherwise the immediacy of the banging would make me too nervous to enjoy the banging
Sir: Yes, I agree. Dates are underrated. And now I’m thinking about the place I’m taking you. And the specific kind of table I want. And the appetizers I wanna order you.
Little one: I’m so exciteeeeeddd!!!
Sir: You’re little and this place is big and fancy, but I think you can handle it
Little one: I’m gonna dress like a grown-up lady and be so good for you

Once we’ve been seated, I peruse the menu and notice a detail immediately that he no doubt meant for me to notice. One dish on the menu is cacio e pepe, the cheesy al dente pasta I fell in love with when my mom and I visited Rome last year. I asked him, on our first date, where one could get a decent cacio e pepe in New York, and he rattled off several answers from memory, impressing me immediately with his knowledge of this city I found so enchanting. And now he’s taken me somewhere beautiful that makes my favorite dish.

By my estimation, romance really boils down to enthusiasm, effort, and attention. I can see all three in his decision to take me here, specifically. It sets me swooning.

“She’ll have the cacio e pepe,” he tells the waiter, and I giggle irrepressibly like the spoiled princess that I am.

Sir: God I like you. Help.
Little one: I know a way I can help
Sir: Tell me more
Little one: I can come to New York, have flirty dinner ‘n’ drankz with you, and then maybe fuck you in a hotel? If that sounds doable?
Sir: You sound doable.

I haven’t called him “Sir” in person yet. This handsome besuited stranger across the table from me still feels disconnected in my mind from the playful, mysterious voice I’ve grown to adore on the phone. The boy who texts me puns and calls me “babygirl” over FaceTime is someone I know and trust; the person in front of me is… someone else. But I’m trying to bridge the gap.

It’s easier when he starts hurting me. Once our food has been ordered, he reaches across the table, as if to take my hand, like we’re any vanilla couple. But then he digs his nails into my skin, pinches me there, bringing the thrilling tension I’m feeling inside to the surface. “Sirrrr,” I say, for the first time tonight, wincing and smiling, both at once.

For sadomasochists like us, there is an intimacy to the exchange of pain – even moreso here, in public, where anyone looking at us must think we’re “normal” but inside we’re both screaming for him to bruise me, pummel me, lay me bare. I feel closer to him suddenly than I have all night, and my heartbeat hastens in half-pleasant panic.

But it is definitely still panic. I’ve never felt this nervous on a date in my life. Pre-date nerves are a thing, sure, but usually they melt away once I figure out who I’m dealing with. This distress has persisted, beating a hammer against my ribcage from inside me, shouting: You’re not supposed to be here, you know. This place, this boy, this night is all too nice for the likes of you. I dab my lipsticked mouth with my napkin and excuse myself. In the all-too-fancy restroom, I sit and tweet and try to breathe. I’m with someone who will keep me safe, at least. I know that much. I trust this stranger, because he isn’t really a stranger.

Little one: I feel like I’m floating and not real
Sir: You are floating and you are real.
Little one: Why does that make me want to make out with you? Answer: everything does
Sir: Yup, pretty much. Making out always makes things feel more real also. Because warm skin pressed against yours is hard to ignore.
Little one: Truuuue

I can’t finish my dinner because my stomach is clenching with fear and excitement about what comes next. But it’s okay; he likes me anyway.

We get our coats and my suitcase and huddle in the foyer, waiting for a Lyft. He stands so close to me, like our proximity is an inevitability. Like we’re magnets. He kisses me a little. I want to be kissed a lot.

In the car, we sit at opposite ends of the backseat, and he lifts an arm and says, “C’mere.” An effortlessly intimate gesture, and a much-needed one. I slide across the leather and settle against him, safe and warm. Maybe he can feel my heartbeat rat-tat-tatting under my coat.

I don’t know where he’s taking me. The hotel he’s chosen is a surprise. I don’t know what we are yet. Our future is a mystery.

But as New York City slides by outside the window, I decide it doesn’t really matter. I’m happy now, nerves or no nerves. I’m happy to be here with him.