Take Your Sweetheart to a Sex Shop

Kate Sloan

Sex shops feel drastically different depending on whether you’re there alone, with a friend, or with someone you like to bang. Some sex-shop trips are meandering, some are matter-of-fact, and some are mushy as hell. If you want to learn something new about a person in your life, whether they’re just a friend or something more, try taking them to a sex shop (with their consent, of course) – you will see a new side of them, I guarantee it.

Taking romantic partners to sex shops is a unique experience, truly. And it doesn’t have to be as simple as “show up, pick something out together, take it home, and try it out.” There are lots of ways to jazz up this relationship milestone! Here are five suggestions…

Pick out a surprise for each other. I helped a couple do this when I was working in sex toy retail and it was such an adorable joy. They each separately crept around the shop, surreptitiously sleuthing out a secret token of love for the other. Agree on a budget beforehand if you like, try not to peek at what your partner’s picking out, and keep your treats concealed from each other until you arrive home and swap ’em. It’s like Secret Santa, except more specific, special, and sexy!

Attend a workshop. Some sex shops host classes that’ll teach you new sexual skills. I’ve attended local lessons on handjobs, blowjobs, butt stuff, squirting, fisting, and much more. Some classes are specifically designed for couples; some aren’t but offer discounted pricing for pairs. If workshops like this exist in your area, you and your sweetheart should flip through the calendar together and choose a session that excites you both. Go, take notes, ask questions, exchange knowing glances at relevant moments, be cute little astute pupils together, and then go home and try out what you learned.

Make it a date. When my friend Bex was working in sex toy retail, they often recommended that customers buy their partners a gift card rather than a toy, because it’s hard to shop for someone else in this area, even if you think you know their tastes fairly intimately. Throw in another gift card to your partner’s favorite restaurant, and maybe a small indulgence like a massage candle or a good-quality flavored lube, and you’ve got a fun date night on your hands. You and your darlin’ can dress up fancy, go for dinner, drop by the sex shop to pick up a pleasurable new treat, and then go home and debut your new treasure. Fun!

Try on lingerie. When visiting a shop that sells sexy apparel, there are few joys more satisfying than modeling something strappy or revealing for your paramour (or being the audience for such a spectacle). It’s so so sweet to see someone’s eyes light up when you step out of the fitting room looking devilishly divine. And then you can buy whichever ensemble revs your honey’s engine the most, and take it home to try it on again in a more private setting.

“If we had [x], I would [y]…” You don’t actually need to spend money at a sex shop to get an erotic charge out of visiting one. Take a look around a shop with your babe, mentally select a few items you’d love to use on/with them, and then whisper those filthy fantasies in their ear later when the two of you are home and canoodlin’. Injecting freshness into sexual relationships is always a good idea, and there are so many ways to do it!

Have you ever taken a partner to a sex shop? How did it go?

 

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

Swallow Your Fear: A Deep Dive Into Deepthroating

Kate Sloan

Author’s note: A few weeks ago, I complained to my Sir that I wished I was better at deepthroating, and he mused, “Maybe I should design a curriculum.” He put together a list of resources (see the end of this post for the list, if you’re curious) and issued me an assignment: “Read, watch, and listen to the following media, and prepare a written reflection on what you learned and how you plan to incorporate these ideas.” What follows is that written reflection. (I got a grade of 90 out of 100, which is an A+, by the way!)

“Feel the fear and do it anyway.” –psychologist and self-help author Susan Jeffers

“Jump into the fear; it’s super fun.” –improvisor and improv coach Matt Folliott

“I have learned that there are two things I need in order to comfortably jump into a fear: a supportive, loving, respectful environment, and a little push.” –my journal, 2011

Over and over in my sex life, I have resolved to overcome a fear, pushed through it, and arrived on the other side blushing, grinning, and safe.

Sexual anxiety is a microcosm for anxiety I experience in my life more generally. Each discrete fear has a period of development and simmering, a point at which it reaches its terrifying zenith, and (provided I ever find the nerve) a moment when I face the fear head-on and inevitably learn, once again, that nothing is ever as scary as I initially believe it to be. When I conquer sexual fears in this way, I see afresh that any fear worth conquering can be conquered like this: through incremental efforts and then one big leap.

I’ve long feared deepthroating, despite it being a significant kink of mine for several years. The discomfort of cramming a foreign object into one’s throat, the subsequent panic when one’s gag reflex is tripped, and the sense of failure when it doesn’t go as planned all contribute to my view of deepthroating as more daunting than arousing (and I find it plenty arousing, so that’s saying something). However, in devouring the deepthroating curriculum thoughtfully prepared for me by my Sir, I encountered countless iterations of an idea I already knew but had never really applied to deepthroating before: that sometimes, the way to get over a fear is simply to wade into the intense feelings it brings up, stay there, and sit with those feelings awhile.

Much has been written on the technical skills involved in deepthroating. Many guides recommend isolating and becoming aware of your throat muscles, through methods such as yawning and swallowing, so as to be able to relax them voluntarily. Many also recommend certain positions, like the classic “head hanging upside-down over the edge of the bed” pose, which align the throat with the mouth to minimize gagging. Most also suggest practicing on a dildo, so you get the hang of coordinating throat relaxation with carefully-timed breathing and head-bobbing before bringing a partner into the equation.

But beyond physical tricks, almost all these guides insist that you relax, stay with the discomfort instead of running away from it, and push yourself a little further each time. This advice is easy to dismiss – “Tell me something actually helpful,” I’d often think with an eye-roll while reading these so-called tips for the umpteenth time – but it’s a process you shouldn’t knock until you try it. It’s also the same process I’ve used to face – and successfully overcome – almost every fear I’ve ever vanquished.

This recurrent advice also forced me to realize how much of my deepthroating apprehension relates to what a partner will think of me if I deepthroat him “unsuccessfully” or clumsily. Will I look silly? Will he be disappointed or annoyed? Will he think me sexually unskilled? As with most of my sexual anxieties, these are largely unfounded: most folks are thrilled to receive enthusiastic oral sex, even if it lacks technical finesse. Besides which, sex is best when there is a mutual agreement – whether explicitly stated or implicitly understood – to accept each other as you are, in all your potential silliness and ineptitude, because sex is about your connection, not arbitrary benchmarks you try to hit like sexual athletes.

Part of what appeals to me about other intense sex acts, like spanking and fisting, is the mutual trust and vulnerability involved in one partner consensually pushing the other to their physical and emotional limits. I see no reason I can’t view deepthroating through that same lens: as something I attempt, and may find scary, and may fail at, but will be supported in my fear and my failure by my partner (and, hopefully, myself).

It is okay to be bad at things. It is okay to find things scary. Just push yourself a little further, try a little harder, relax a little deeper, and be a little gentler with yourself. Day by day by day, you will probably improve. And also it’s okay if you don’t.

Deepthroating curriculum as prepared by my Sir:
• “What are some good tips for deep throating?” (Quora thread)
• iDeepThroat instructional video (starring my fave, Heather Harmon)
• “17 people reveal how they learned to deepthroat” (ThoughtCatalog article)
• “Learning to deepthroat and relax your gag reflex” (Slut Academy article)
• “3 women get super honest about deepthroating” (Cosmopolitan article)
• “Adventures in deepthroat” (Girl on the Net guest post)

Review: Sistalk Doctor Whale

Kate Sloan

Friends keep asking me what the deal is with the little stuffed cyclops-whale displayed in my room. “It came with a Kegel toy I’m reviewing soon,” I always say, which is a strange sentence. #SexToyReviewerLyfe, amirite?

Sistalk recently sent me their Doctor Whale vibrating Kegel exerciser – and that accompanying Doctor Whale stuffed animal. (I don’t know what he’s a doctor of, nor where he got his medical degree.) It’s a cool idea: an insertable vibrator equipped with pressure sensors, so it can vibrate your G-spot pleasurably while also guiding you through a Kegel exercise regimen and sensing how well you’re doing on your workout. The toy is controllable via an app called Monster Pub, which is also where you can set up and track your Kegel exercises. You can use Sistalk toys as regular wearable vibrators as well, controlling their vibrations via the app.

Sistalk designed this product well in some ways: its silicone is smooth and soft, it’s easy to insert, and it’s comfortable to use. The whale’s tail sits against my clit but doesn’t really vibrate it, so I’ll never have an orgasm from this toy alone, but that isn’t really its aim. The whale’s body is big enough that I can feel it when I squeeze around it, but not so big that it’s uncomfortable. To my surprise, the motor is quite good: rumbly and strong enough to please my fickle G-spot. Physically, the toy is well-thought-out.

But problems arise once you get into the Bluetooth connectivity and app-controllability. The connection between the toy and my phone is always tenuous at best, usually disconnecting after a couple minutes if not sooner. Other reviewers have experienced this issue too so I know it’s not a fluke with my particular toy. Needless to say, it’s hard to focus on a Kegel exercise routine when you’re concerned the vibe will disconnect at any moment, which it inevitably does.

The app itself is too busy, bursting with options. I’ve dated enough app developers to be able to hear their tut-tutting in my head as I flip through this app’s overburdened menus and screens. There’s also a language barrier which makes many of its instructions confusing or downright hilarious (I’m still gigglin’ about the Kegel exercise narrator telling me to squeeze my “vageena” tighter).

I think this line of toys has a lot of potential; the designers just need to fix the connectivity issues, tighten up the app, and maybe construct a more stimulating tail for this li’l whale. Until then, I recommend the We-Vibe Sync if you’re looking for an app-controllable vibrator, and a good old-fashioned pair of Kegel balls if you want to work on your pelvic musculature. Hopefully Sistalk works out the kinks with their products so lots of folks can enjoy these adorable, health-promoting monsters!

 

This review was sponsored, and as always, all writing and opinions are my own.

Monthly Faves: Trances, Nerves, and Blue Leather

Kate Sloan

Gosh, it’s been a minute since I’ve done one of these, huh? I had… a lot of amazing sex this month. With three lovely folks who I enjoy banging a great deal. It was an auspicious start to 2018, lemme tell ya! Here are some highlights…

Sex toys

• My Sir bought me a Doxy #3 for Christmas, because he is an absolute gem, and I love it. It’s got all the power I need, like a regular-sized Doxy wand, except it’s small enough to fit in a purse (or a carry-on suitcase – cough, #LongDistanceLyfe).

• A New Year’s Day phone sex sesh reminded me of how great the We-Vibe Sync is. If you’re looking for an app-compatible vibrator a long-distance partner can control in some super fun ways, this is 100% the one I would recommend. It succeeds in two key areas where a lot of vibes in this category fail: its motor rules, and its remote-controllability actually works.

• I am rediscovering my Fleshjack dildos lately. I love the firm-to-flexible ratio of their silicone. Plus sometimes you just need to display a hyper-realistic dildo on your nightstand…

Fantasy fodder

• Wow, I’m really into phone sex lately! It’s long been a proclivity I didn’t understand, since I’d always rather be touched by a partner than touch myself to their voice, and I get nervous about saying filthy shit out loud. But my new beau is exceptionally gifted in this arena so I’ve been having phone-sex orgasms aplenty. It’s so simultaneously hot and astonishing to me when someone knows my sex-brain well enough to be able to whip out a phrase or image that practically makes me come on the spot…!

• Another thing my new partner is into: hypnokink. Woof. I’m not quite sure to what extent being hypnotized is a sexy thing for me versus just a fun, relaxing, intimate thing – but there’s a lot of overlap between those two categories for me anyway (spanking, choking, and face-slapping, anyone?). I’m gonna write about this in more detail soon, because holy hell, we’ve been doing some interesting stuff.

• I’m in a new DD/lg dynamic! Eee! We just made it “official,” or whatever. It feels really good to be calling someone “daddy” again after avoiding that for quite a while due to getting my heart broken by my last daddy dom. I love and value this type of dominance so much and had missed it a lot. I’m so glad I found someone else I trust enough to go into “little space” with, and who is worthy of that trust.

Sexcetera

• This month I had, without exaggeration, one of the best dates of my life, involving a very nervous dinner at a very fancy restaurant, exceptionally good period sex involving lots of toys at a beautiful hotel, lots of new scratches and bruises, and waking up next to a mega-handsome boy. Throw me to the wolves. I wish upon all of you the magic and wonder and starry-eyed smittenness I got to feel this month.

• Some of my work elsewhere as of late: I wrote about women’s sexual fantasies and my sex spreadsheet for Glamour. Over at Ignite, I explored sexting, fantasies, orgasms, and vibrators. On our podcast, Bex and I discussed our 2018 sex goals, debated the merits of 69ing, and answered listeners’ questions.

Femme stuff

• Last month at the Pink Market, I bought a turquoise suede collar from L’Amour-Propre, and I’m absolutely enamored with it. Their suede is super comfortable and conforms to my skin nicely, making these collars good choices for all-day wear. I love how simultaneously bright and understated they are.

• On these bitterly cold days we’ve been having here in Toronto lately, there’s nothing like a hand-knit cowl to keep you cozy. My favorite one in my arsenal is a royal blue one my friend Cadence knitted me a few years ago. Its bold shade keeps me feelin’ optimistic even when it’s bleak as fuck outside.

• I haz a new Coach satchel and it’s so prettyyy. It’s kind of a strange robin’s-egg blue color, like the sky on a bright but cloudy day, and I’m into it.

Little things

Ringing in the new year with good friends, pastry straws, and a thorough spanking. Max buying me a Hippo Campus T-shirt and Dick buying me a Hippo Campus vinyl EP. “How’s your NRE doing?” Vanilla donuts as writing fuel. Exciting meetings with editors. Co-writing a song with my Sir. Going to the theatre with my mom. Sir seeing my journal in my bag and asking, “Can I touch it?” Blowjob experiments. Solo writing dates at ye olde greasy diner. Being interviewed by people who’ve done their research. Nerdy overanalytical aftercare. Bex picking me up at the airport with homemade cookies in tow. Bagels and cream cheese on Long Island. Elegant cocktails. Hearing Sir singing “Story Telling” in the shower. Subtle public D/s at an improv show. Mutual vulnerability. My new Hitachi-shaped pipe from Bex! Getting to write for a long-time dream publication of mine (just you wait!). Listening very fucking hard.

Do You Want It Too?

Kate Sloan

“Being drunk is making me want to call you Daddy,” I hammer out with clumsy thumbs.

Before I can even get anxious about what I’ve said, Sir types back: “Try it.” So I do.

With the right kind of consent-conscious kink nerd, a new D/s relationship is always an exercise in trust and communication. Always a gamble that catapults my heart into my throat. Here’s what I want. Do you want it too? And then, as time goes on: Are you sure?

Three days after we met, I told this beautiful boy, “I wouldn’t say that my feelings about you are quite ‘Daddy dom‘-esque, but I am very into that nurturing, caring type of dominance, and I do feel that way about you.”

“Yeah, I don’t feel like a ‘Daddy,’ per se,” he replied. “But I do know what you mean.”

We laugh about this interaction now. He is such a Daddy. He likes showing me around his city, holding my hand when we cross the street, carrying things for me. He likes ordering for me at restaurants like I’m not even there (“She’ll have the cacio e pepe“) and letting me taste his grown-up musky cocktails (“Want a sip, little one?”). He makes me feel instantly small with just a word, a glance.

“I just came real hard thinking about you sitting on my face and asking me if Daddy was gonna come from that,” he recounts in a text. “Also, you’re gonna take your iron pills when you get home, right, baby?”

I laugh into my coffee cup in a diner when I read these over, and say to my best friend across the table: “He just sent me a filthy sext and then told me to take my meds. I can’t believe he didn’t know he’s a Daddy dom.”

I have been in too many relationships with people who gave me what I wanted only because they knew I wanted it. This selflessness is lovely, in theory, but over time, it breeds resentment. They grow to resent that I really do want “that kink stuff” all the time, and not just occasionally – and I grow to resent the asynchronicity of our feelings, the way I’m sliding deeper into a dynamic they don’t even really see.

Once, on my way to go see a boyfriend, I subtweeted him. I didn’t entirely realize I was doing it; the thoughts condensed in my brain like rainclouds and I spilled them onto Twitter almost compulsively. “Gosh, there’s such a difference between someone who bites/beats/bruises you ’cause you want them to and someone who does it ’cause they want to,” I mused. “It’s nice to bang someone who’ll beat me up when I ask, but I miss the raw ragged viscerality of a real sadist destroying me.”

It wasn’t a nice thing to do. I know that now, and I regret it. I especially regret it when I remember how he looked up from his phone when I walked through his front door, and met my eyes with a furrowed brow. “Baby, you know I like hurting you, right?” he asked with no preamble. “I like it because you like it so much.”

But therein lay the problem. I wanted him to want it too. I wanted him to lose himself in desire a little when he hit me, his heart stuttering, cheeks flushing. I wanted to feel him get hard through his jeans while I squealed and squirmed in his lap. I wanted a wolfish glint in his eye as he held me down and made me take what he needed to give me.

I guess that’s why we didn’t last. Some people want to make you happy, but the wanting is not always enough.

“You should maybe, uh, tell me what to wear and how to do my hair and makeup for our date,” I mumble over the phone to my Sir. Meek and muffled, because I know how this usually goes. Usually I float this idea and a partner either reacts like it’s totally absurd, or gives me the world’s least satisfying answer: “Wear whatever makes you feel beautiful!”

They always think they’re trying to be nice. And they are being nice, in a way. But they’re also withholding from me the thing that I want. Which is, in a different way, not nice at all, really.

“Hmm,” Sir says thoughtfully, his honeyed tenor tone vibrating against my face from 500 miles away. “Tell me what you like about that.”

No one has ever actually asked me this before, about this particular thing. It’s a conversation I always want to have, about every kink, both mine and my partners’: Why do you like that? The answers are always illuminating. It’s like walking behind Niagara Falls. You knew the exterior was dazzling; now you know its beauty from the inside, too.

I pause and think it through, choose my words carefully, one by one. “I like assignments with clear parameters,” I elucidate at length, “because I like knowing exactly how to make someone happy and being able to do it exactly right.”

“Got it,” he replies. I’ve heard him say this many times. It still makes me swoon every time. Got it. He’s got me. “So, if I was to tell you to wear all black clothing, red lipstick, and your hair styled so I can pull on it, would those parameters be clear enough?”

My temperature rises and a sharp huff of air pushes past my lips, like I’ve been punched in the gut. He gets it, and I love that he gets it. I know my explanation is what helped him get it, but moreover, I love that he asked for an explanation instead of just dismissing my vulnerable request out of hand. I love that he took this seriously because he could see it was serious to me.

Power exchange is a collaborative mosaic of trust and vulnerability. It’s stepping out onto a rickety bridge together, promising to keep each other safe if something goes awry. Here’s what I want. Do you want it too?

I do it for him, too. I try to. Past partners have told me, when I coyly begged them to dominate me, that they worried they’d go too far – or, worse, that I would laugh in their face when they issued a command. “Oh, that? I’m not going to do that. Why would you even want that?!” So I do my best to affirm dominants’ orders. I treat these directives with the care they deserve. They may be barked or growled, but they are vulnerable nonetheless – because I could always, always say no.

Sir unbuttons his shirt and tells me to hang it up in the closet. A bratty voice inside me pipes up to wonder why the fuck I would do that when he’s right here beside me on the bed, warm and touchable and getting undressed. But I know why. He wants to see me do it. He wants to see what I will do for him. So I get up, smooth the shirt onto a hanger, and slide it into the closet, blushing from the way he looks at me. It’s a hunger and a satisfaction: he asked for what he wanted, and I wanted it too.

These moments are small, just snapshots that tell no particular story individually, but woven together, they are a heart-stopping collage. They are trust and vulnerability writ large. Writ very large indeed.

One Monday morning in New York City, I hand Sir two dresses from my suitcase. “Which one, Sir?” I query, and he chooses the red one. I put it on.

I dig through my toiletries bag for fragrances, and hand him three sample vials. He holds each to his handsome nose and selects the Tom Ford. I put it on.

“Do you like making decisions for me?” I ask, playfully, like I already know the answer – but I don’t, not really. I know what the evidence suggests, and I know what I hope the answer is, but it will be a while before I know it for certain, in the pit of my gut and the base of my brain.

“So much,” he groans in response, and I blush as crimson as the dress he chose for me.