My favorite fuckbuddy calls the Tantus Ryder the “sleep number plug” because, when he fucked my vag while the Ryder was in my butt, the plug made me so much tighter that he exclaimed, “Who turned the sleep number in your vagina up to 100?!” and came almost immediately. I still make fun of him for that particular ejaculation (I’m using “ejaculation” in both the sexual and verbal senses of the word).
But the Ryder isn’t just a tool for making your vagina feel tighter. It’s also an excellent butt plug in its own right.
Here’s how much I love the Ryder: when Cailey from new Canadian sex toy shop La Petite Mort asked me what I’d like to review from her site, I requested the Ryder even though I already owned one. Tantus redesigned the Ryder sometime in the past couple years, giving it a comfier base and a smaller, slimmer shape. Some people rabidly buy each new iPhone model the day it launches; me, I needed the latest iteration of this butt plug.
Tantus has done a pretty significant overhaul of this plug, to the point that the new and old Ryders look and feel substantially different from each other. I’m not sure the new one lives up to the “sleep number” hype of the old one, because it’s smaller – both lengthwise and girthwise – and therefore wouldn’t make my vag feel as tight to anyone fucking me while the plug was inside me. So when I see the particular fuckbuddy who’s a fan of that sensation, I’ll pack my old Ryder in my toy bag – but aside from that one aspect, I overwhelmingly prefer the new-and-improved version of the Ryder.
The base, notably, is flatter and slimmer than it used to be, and curves with your body rather than jabbing into it. It’s unobtrusive, but not so slight as to make me worry it’ll get sucked into my butt. A more comfortable base means I can keep the plug inside me for longer. It also seems less likely to get in the way if a partner was to go down on me, finger me, or fuck me while the plug was in. Hooray!
The smaller size makes the new Ryder feel like less of a stretch and require less warm-up, though of course, it won’t be as satisfying to fans of girth. (If that’s your jam, Tantus makes the Bronco, which is 1.75″ in diameter versus the old Ryder’s 1.5″.) The tip of the plug is more gradually tapered now than it used to be, so it’s easier to insert and doesn’t cause me pain or discomfort like my original Ryder occasionally did.
The new Ryder is also made of a silky, matte silicone, which glides against the skin more smoothly than the sticky, glossy silicone the Ryder used to be made of. It collects less lint and debris, too. (Nobody wants lint and debris in their butt. Nobody.)
I’m super glad I have both versions of the Ryder, because they’re different enough that they’re essentially two different toys. The current version is better for beginners to butt stuff (though I’d still recommend something smaller for true novices), less intense, and more comfortable for long-term wear. The old one still holds a special place in my heart, though, for being one of my first butt plugs and the only toy that’s ever caused a partner to joyfully exclaim about how tight my vagina felt when I used it. Ah, memories!
Thank you to La Petite Mort for sending me this plug to review! Canadian sex toy shoppers, you should take a look at their mission statement; they’re all about inclusivity and material safety, and that’s a mission worth supporting.
Break-ups are hard. That’s true for anyone, and it’s true for me. I have an anxiety disorder. That means my brain’s fear-o-meter is out of whack. And that means I often worry about things that no neurotypical person would ever worry about as deeply as anxious folks do. For example: what to wear to break up with someone.
There is such a delicate balance to be struck in this sartorial decision. You want to wear something that makes you feel strong and brave, shoring up your resolve so you don’t chicken out. You want to look good, but not so attractive that your babeliness is a slap in the face to the person you’re dumping. You want to be prepared incase your soon-to-be-ex bursts into tears (or you do) and needs to wipe their snotty face on something. You want to dress appropriately for the temperature and tone of your break-up’s setting, whether that’s your beau’s apartment, a classy bistro patio, or a bustling street corner. You want your choice of footwear to enable a quick getaway, whether that’s needed because of emotional awkwardness or (god forbid) actual threats or violence from your scorned would-be ex. And you don’t want to wear anything that could be interpreted as a sign of lingering feelings for your dumpee, like a T-shirt you inherited from them or a necklace they bought you.
The last time I broke up with a serious partner, it was the sticky height of summer in 2014. I tucked a white tank top into a pink skirt, and put my hair in a ponytail with a pink scrunchie. Hot pink is one of my “power colors,” a shade that makes me feel strong and put-together, which I knew I’d need – because emotionally, I was a mess.
I slipped on some plain black leather flats and departed toward where I’d agreed to meet my boyfriend. About ten minutes into my walk to the subway station, I realized that in my frazzled trance, I’d forgotten my wallet at home. It was too late for me to run back and get it if I was going to meet my partner on time, so instead I just power-walked all the way to my destination. I arrived dripping sweat and out of breath.
When I actually delivered my little break-up speech, I broke down crying. I’d been with this man for three and a half years, and he was my best friend; saying goodbye to him was no easy task, though I knew it was necessary. He asked me if it would be weird if he hugged me, and I said no. He squeezed me tight, one last time, until my breathing slowed. And then we said our teary-but-amicable goodbyes and went our separate ways.
I wished I’d brought a scarf, so I could’ve wiped my wet face on that instead of on my beau’s shirt. I wished I’d brought sunglasses, so I could’ve hid my eyes as I wept all the way home. I wished I’d remembered my damn wallet. But hey, at least my clothes looked cute.
Here are some outfits and the fictional babes who wore them to their break-ups… (Idea reverently pilfered from Gala Darling, who’s written similar posts about first dates, New Year’s Eve, and dream girls!)
Nora wasn’t going to take any of his shit anymore. She showed up at James’ house with a box of his stuff slung under her arm, and kicked his door a few times with her steel-reinforced boot toe instead of knocking. She’d probably scuffed the paint. Fuck him, he deserved it.
When he opened the door wearing his plaid flannel PJ pants and nothing else, she rolled her eyes and thrust the box into his torso, knocking the wind out of his dumb face. “We’re done,” she barked, and turned on her heel.
“Why?” James sputtered. A Ninja Turtles action figure had fallen out of the box and he bent down to pick it up. “What did I do?”
“You know perfectly well what you did,” Nora snapped without turning around.
When she got back to her car, she caught sight of herself in the rearview mirror, all smudged eyeliner and mussed-up hair. She looked pissed, but she looked foxy. She dug her favorite lipstick out of her bag and reapplied it, slowly, carefully, with the precision of a woman who wants to look hot for the next chapter of her life. Once her lips were perfect, she revved up the car and embarked on a new adventure, joyfully Jamesless and unencumbered.
“I’ve always hated you in those glasses,” Jackson said when Audrey sat down at the desk next to his. “Don’t you have contacts or something?”
Audrey could feel their classmates watching her. Granted, lecture hadn’t started yet, so there was nothing else to watch, but the mini-drama of Jackson and Audrey’s Tumultuous Romance had been a key source of entertainment these past six weeks in Existentialism 101.
“I like them,” she said simply, beginning to unpack her notebooks and pens.
Jackson made a noise somewhere between a scoff and a snort, and that was the final straw.
“I don’t think I want to see you anymore,” Audrey muttered. And then, a little louder: “We’re just not a good match in so many ways. We disagree on the feminist significance of Simone de Beauvoir, for example.” She cleared her throat. “And I’m tired of writing your essays for you. You should do your own work; the rest of us do.” By this time, the other students were full-on staring. The professor had arrived, and seemed interested in this choice piece of information too. “Oh, and you’re an asshole,” she added with finality.
Gaping at her and leaning way back in his chair, Jackson lost his balance for a moment and spilled onto the floor with a clatter. Audrey wordlessly gathered up her notebooks and pens and moved to a desk at the front of the room. The lecture today was going to be about Dostoevsky and she wanted to absorb every word.
“I just don’t think I’m ready for this,” Jenny said with a sniffle. They shouldn’t have met in a park; the hillside was covered in grass and Jenny was allergic to grass. That was the only reasonable explanation for her watery eyes and nose. Right?
“It’s okay, princess,” Evelyn murmured, clutching her little one against her chest. “We probably rushed into this. I should have taken things more slowly. I’m sorry.”
Jenny shook her head and pressed her face against the older woman’s clavicle. She felt safe there, but it was a conflicted sort of safe. “No, it’s not your fault,” she stammered. “I’m just… not as ready as I thought I was. I’m still not over Mel. I should have been more real with you about that.”
Evelyn kissed the top of her princess’s head and held her tighter. “I understand,” she said. “I’ve been there before.”
They sat in silence for several long moments, Jenny’s wet breaths the only sound in the air. Then she said: “Can I keep my collar?” Her hand traveled to it reflexively, fingers hooking on the heart-shaped steel clasp.
Evelyn laughed softly. “Of course, baby. It’s yours. You can keep it even if you don’t think we should see each other anymore.”
Jenny exhaled deeply against Evelyn’s neck, her breathing starting to return to normal. “I might need it again someday,” she whispered. “You know, when I get over Mel and I’m ready to give this another shot.”
Evelyn smiled. The sun had started to set.
Alex had never hyperventilated in an airport before. Lots of other places, sure, but never an airport.
Sleepy passengers piled out of the arrivals door, fresh off a flight from Lisbon. Fuck, this is gonna be bad, Alex thought, but then, she always thought that. That was just how her brain worked.
She spotted Matt, weary-eyed with suitcase in hand, and a bolt of panic shot through her belly. Fuck, fuck, fuck. She had to do it. She had to. It was scary but she had to do it.
“Matt!” she called weakly, in a voice that was barely hers. He met her eyes, nodded, waved, and meandered through a crowd of chatty Portuguese tourists toward his girlfriend. She didn’t hug him immediately when he got close enough, and then it felt too weird to do it after that. Alex stuffed her hands in her pockets and mumbled, “Um, did you have a good trip?”
Matt started to answer her, but her jittery mouth cut him off. “Listen,” she rasped. “I gotta own up to something. When you were out of the country, I slept with someone else. And I’m really sorry. And that was really shitty of me. And you deserve better than that. It’s just, you were away for so long, and I got lonely, and I also started to think that maybe we’re just not – ”
“Just not meant to stay together,” mb finished. “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing.” She looked up at him with those wide, blue eyes of hers. “And I slept with someone else, too,” he admitted sheepishly.
There was a silence before Alex let out a sharp bark of laughter. “Well! We really fucked this up, huh?” she declared with a grin. And then, taking his suitcase from him: “My car’s outside; let’s get you home and we can figure this out on the road.”
They were halfway to the parking lot when mb threw his arm around her and ruffled her hair. “Missed you, pal,” he said, and it felt like a preview of what they could be to each other, someday, once the dust had settled.
All of my underwear falls into one of two categories: there’s good underwear, and there’s garbage underwear.
“Garbage underwear” is the name I give to the old, worn-out type of panties I only ever throw on if I know I’m not having sex that day. Most of it was bought in cheap multipacks, many months or even years ago. The elastic sags, the colors are faded, the brand name holds no glamorous cachet. It’s comfortable, and it fulfills its function, but ultimately it’s a sad piece of cotton that adds no brightness to my life.
“Good underwear,” by contrast, is what I’ll put on if I suspect I might be getting laid, taking my clothes off in front of people, or showing off my butt to a crowd. (Blessedly, I have the kind of life where these situations are commonplace.) It may be slinky, saucy, and/or lacy. It shows off my assets and creates a flattering silhouette. Ideally, it highlights some playfulness in my personality, too.
The trouble with “good underwear,” though, is that it often isn’t very comfortable. Lace chafes, silky fabric shifts and slides, and the visual effect isn’t always worth the tactile troubles this type of underwear causes. But then, occasionally, it is possible to find the ease and comfort of “garbage underwear” married to the cuteness and beauty of “good underwear.” Like, for example, MeUndies.
You’ve probably heard of MeUndies if you listen to certain podcasts that rep them; their influencer outreach is very good. But what astonished me is that their products are actually as fantastic as all those podcast hosts say they are. They promise comfort and cuteness, and they deliver on that promise.
I wore my red and white polka-dotted MeUndies to my first anal sex experience. Anyone who knows me intimately could tell you that when I’m nervous about an event, I obsess about what to wear to that event – and when sexy things are going to happen, underwear is a hugely important part of that. It has to be exactly right, evoking the feelings I hope to feel where I’m going.
I chose these because they’re flattering and sensuous, but also fun and playful. I wanted to feel relaxed, as far away from “nervous” as possible, since I was nervous as hell. Who wants to worry about annoying straps, snaps, or lace when you’re already worried about whether someone’s dick will even fit in your ass?!
MeUndies are made of a blissfully soft modal-elastane blend. I am a stickler for underwear material: years ago, I threw away all my nylon- and spandex-heavy underthings because I felt they were contributing to recurrent BV. I replaced them with pairs made primarily of cotton, which breathes better and is therefore better for vaginal health. My militantly picky vagina has had no issues whatsoever with MeUndies, and in fact, if I could replace my entire underwear wardrobe with them, I would. They’re that comfy and cute.
The company launches a fancy new design each month, and October’s is covered in spooky ghosts. I am in love! A friend said to me, “Your genitals are haunted!” These ghosts are so damn adorable. I am proud to adorn my butt in them.
This post wasn’t sponsored – I actually just fucking love MeUndies and wanted to show you how foxy I look in mine, frankly! – but if you wanna pick some up and you buy through this link, you’ll get 20% off and I’ll get a little kickback to spend on more underwear. So we’ll both have happier genitals and butts. It’s a win-win!
During the shitstorm of anti-feminist trolls I faced after the publication of my Establishment article, the funniest criticism I received was this: “Every feminist’s ideal boyfriend is a Hitachi Magic Wand.”
A conservative blogger had written about me and my degenerate sex toy collection, and I clicked the link while at a party with a bunch of friends. When a concerned pal saw what I was reading, he cooed, “Aw, don’t look at that,” and tried to take my phone from me so it wouldn’t ruin my night. But I wasn’t sad or angry; I was giggling my ass off.
It struck me (and still strikes me) as so funny that these anti-feminist, anti-woman, anti-pleasure curmudgeons think sex toys are incompatible with the presence of a real-life partner. These people honestly believe that by sheer virtue of owning dozens of vibrators and dildos, I am scaring away anyone who might want to bang me. This couldn’t be further from the truth.
I’m throwing clothes and toiletries into a backpack, getting ready for a weekend at my boyfriend’s place. It’s a rarity: he has the house to himself, with his family being out of town. We are going to fuck on every available surface.
My eyes land on my sex toy drawers and I realize some important decisions need to be made. “What toys should I bring?” I text my love. While waiting for him to respond, I idly graze my fingers over my Tango, Orchid, and Wahl.
I should have known. He loves how hard that toy makes me come, while his cock is deep inside me or his fingers probe my G-spot. Sometimes he even hands it to me during sex without me needing to ask – a non-verbal assertion that, yes, he values my pleasure, it’s important to him, it turns him on, and he can’t wait to feel me clenching around him.
I wrap the Eroscillator’s cord carefully around its body and slide it into my bag, then skip off toward the subway station.
27 percent of the people I’ve banged have owned their own Magic Wand (to my knowledge, anyway). That’s no small number. That’s 1.3 in 5. Those odds are pretty good, compared to the world at large. I have excellent taste in partners.
Though self-pleasure is obviously an important ideal to me, I’m especially charmed by cis men who own a Magic Wand purely for the usage of the women they bone.
These are usually men to whom their partners’ pleasure matters a great deal. They’re the type of men who want you to come, but who will back the fuck off if you tell them it’s probably not gonna happen tonight and you’re okay with that. The type of men who will patiently offer up their fingers, mouths, dicks, and talented toy-wielding hands if it means they get to watch you writhe and convulse beneath them. The type of men who will never judge you for getting sweaty, red-faced, breathless, loud, and incoherent during and after your orgasm, because to them, that’s not unattractive – it’s the whole point.
When I’m flirting with someone new and sex toys come up in conversation, sometimes I learn that my flirtee owns their own Hitachi. It’s usually mentioned so casually and offhandedly, I could miss it if I zoned out for just a moment. But it’s info that perks my ears right up, because I know what it’s likely to mean.
“I bought it for an ex-girlfriend, but she didn’t want it,” he says with a shrug as he plugs it in.
“Lucky for me,” I fire back, unwrapping a condom to pull over the thing’s unwieldy, porous head.
I’m already wet from his deft fingers, so he can push them right into me again once the Hitachi is settled on my clit. I turn it on just as he finds my A-spot and have to bite down on my own hand to keep my moans at a reasonable decibel level. The deep vibrations rocking my entire clit combine with his sweetly insistent fingers, and I zoom right into “about to come” territory within seconds.
It doesn’t take much. I’m just thinking that I wish he would say something nurturing and domly to me to push me over the edge, when he leans in and mutters, “Does that feel good? Yeah? Like that?” And then I’m coming all over his fingers, sinking my teeth even deeper into my own skin. The vibrator rattles noisily against my sudden wetness and I leave it there until I can’t stand it anymore.
“Man, I love that thing,” I breathe. He laughs and says, “Yeah, I could tell.” We curl up to sleep: him spooning me, and me spooning the Hitachi.
The way I use sex toys with partners, it’s a way they can prove to me that they trust and respect my authority over my own body.
I rarely just hand a partner a toy and let ’em go wild with it. Usually I’ll hand it to them while listing some very specific instructions. “Push it all the way into me, tilt the tip up toward my belly, and move in and out in small motions. Yeah, like that. A little bit faster, please.”
Or sometimes I’ll just hold the damn thing myself. I’ll press a vibrator against my clit or external G-spot while my partner fucks me with fingers, a toy, or his dick. Since my clit is a total princess, it’s often easier if I handle that part myself, freeing him up to do other things.
I don’t attract the type of person who’d pridefully try to control my toys against my wishes. I wouldn’t want to bang that type of person, anyway. I only want to be with people who respect my autonomy, my knowledge of my own body, my pleasure preferences. And when a partner hands me a vibe without getting butthurt about it, without sulking in disappointment, without seeming to feel devalued or unneeded, it just proves he trusts me to know what’s best for me.
It’s a feminist act, in some ways. It’s a man saying-without-saying, “Your body is yours, you’re smart and experienced, and your pleasure matters. I’d love to be a part of that, if you’ll let me. And if not, that’s fine too.”
He’s got one hand on my chest and the other inside me. My Tango is wedged against my clit, thrumming helpfully, but I’m just not quite getting there.
I see a look come over his face that I can’t decipher, and then he says, “I don’t think this is strong enough. Do you wanna switch to the Hitachi?”
My appreciation for this man, in this moment, is grander than I can translate into words. My heart melts, and so does my vagina. Far from being scared or put off by vibrators, he’s getting annoyed with the one in my hand for being too small, not strong enough, not giving me enough pleasure. He wants more for me, because my enjoyment is paramount to him. And not in some selfless, detached way: me getting off is a direct turn-on for him. And I know that’s why he shuts off my Tango, retrieves my Magic Wand from the bedside table, and places it in my hands.
A few diligent minutes later, I come so hard that I’m babbling, sweating, lost in rumbly reverie. I’m vaguely aware that he takes the vibe from me once I’m totally done coming, and I hear him set it on the table before climbing back into bed with me.
Maybe it’s the orgasmic neurotransmitters talking, but I’ve rarely felt so cared for, respected, safe, and seen during sex as I do now. He knew what I needed and delivered it not with complaints but with extreme enthusiasm. It wasn’t even a big deal to him. He wanted me to come, so, duh, he made sure there was a suitable vibrator in my hands. It was the obvious thing to do, and he did it because he cares about me.
I drift off to sleep in his arms. His hands still smell like me.
My friend Tynan Rhea is one of the funniest people I know. Her stories at Tell Me Something Good are always crowd favorites, and I could happily listen to her talk about damn near anything for hours. She’s just that kind of person.
But being funny and engaging isn’t Tynan’s only skill. She’s also a trained doula, aromatherapist, and sex educator. I sat down with Tynan in a noisy Toronto coffee shop to talk about the science of aromatherapy, the oil blend she made for me (which is my #1 favorite scent, far beyond any perfume I’ve bought at Sephora), and the super rad self-love workshop she’s teaching this month for folks who’ve recently given birth.
Kate Sloan: So, you made me an aromatherapy blend, and I’m wearing it today, actually. Do you want to tell the story of that blend? ‘Cause it’s a cool story! Tynan Rhea: It’s a great story! Okay, so, you’ll have to fill in the parts that are about you and your day, but basically what happened was: I had a dream. And in the dream, you and I were discussing a blend that I was gonna make for you. KS: And we were at a sex club. TR: Oh, really? I forgot that part! Okay, that makes sense. So, we were at a sex club, and I was discussing this blend. And I remember, in the dream, feeling this sense of urgency, like, “Oh my god, Kate needs this blend.” I knew that it had to have pink grapefruit in it, and I knew that the middle note had to be lemongrass, and then, for the base note, first, I thought, “For sure, jasmine,” and then I thought, “Oh, wait, no. This may be a rose moment.” And I was like – weird! She might hate rose. Why would I do that? And so then, when I woke up, I immediately texted you, like, “I just had this wild dream that I was making this blend for you, and this is what it would have in it… Do you think you’d like that?” And you were like, “Oh, yeah, I could really use that, because…” KS: It was actually, the guy I was seeing at the time, I had just found out that he was a chronic abuser. So I was going through some feelings of guilt and self-hatred around, like, “Why didn’t I know this? Why did I put up with him for so long and believe him over these other women?” TR: Oh, that’s so much more fascinating now, in terms of the blend, because we did end up going with rose, and rose is about self-compassion and healing the heart. So it’s good for if you’ve lost somebody to death or illness, or if you’ve broken up with someone, and it also helps us focus on self-love. It helps us go, “I am deserving, so I don’t need to feel this bad.” KS: Yeah. I think I definitely really needed that, at that time. And still, it’s my favorite. I wear it all the time. I love it. It’s so good. TR: Good! Well, the nice thing about rose, too, is it’s pretty intensely anti-stress. It does things to our brain that have been scientifically researched. KS: Interesting. So I’m curious about – like, you knew me, in that case, so you maybe had some kind of subconscious or conscious sense of what I needed. But what is the process usually like, when you’re working with a client, to determine what they need in a custom blend? TR: So normally, when we’re creating a blend, I go through the process that was taught to me by Tracey TieF, my teacher. She’s the owner and operator of Anarres Apothecary. So what we do is, we ask people what their top three complaints are. So they might be like, “I have backache, I have itchy dandruff, and I just broke up with my boyfriend.” And those seem wildly unrelated, right, but maybe they are related. And that’s kind of the idea with holistic medicine, is that we don’t live these disjointed lives; everything plays into everything. So your back might be aching because you’re tensing your shoulders up all the time because you’re anxious or upset or stressed, and that’s related to the break-up. And when you do that, maybe you scratch your head a bunch. I dunno. Dandruff is not that! But the point is: after you have your top three complaints, then you find a top, middle, and a base note, and each of those notes should address all three of those things. So, I think rose would be really fitting as a base note for that, because rose is an anti-inflammatory. Rose would address all of them, because rose, on the skin [diluted in a carrier oil like vegetable oil], is very healing and very soothing, especially for dry and irritated skin, so that would work well for the dandruff, it would help with the heartache, and it would work well as an anti-inflammatory for the backache. And the idea is that, if all three of the notes address all three issues, then that’s the medicine you need, because it’s hitting all of those points. The oils should mimic the profile of what’s ailing you.
KS: Okay. That makes sense. So, can you tell me about some of your favorite oils specifically for purposes related to sex and sexual health? TR: Yes! So, as my final project, I specialized in sexual health in aromatherapy. My favorite oils for sexual health depend on the sexual issue. My favorite base notes are rose, vanilla, and jasmine. I know we’ve talked a lot about rose, but rose has been shown to release dopamine in the brain, which is partly why it’s such a good anti-stress. And then jasmine has been traditionally used to speed up labor, to increase bonding and sensuality between lovers… It’s suspected by some aromatherapists and midwives that it releases oxytocin in the brain, although I haven’t found research to back that up, but its traditional uses suggest this. And then vanilla releases serotonin in the brain, which we know from research. So I think it’s this wonderful little commonality that they all have: they all work on your “yummy juices.” That’s such a dorky way to put it, but I think of dopamine, oxytocin and serotonin as the “mmm juice,” ’cause those are the feel-good chemicals. And I think each of those has a different way of making you feel yummy. KS: Right. TR: And I should also mention that the oils I pick for sexual health tend to be the ones that play on our psychological and emotional stuff, because that’s sort of the realm of health that I like to work in. But there are lots of really good oils for physical illness of the body. Like, I have this great yeast infection blend that I made for the vulva. It’s coconut oil, tea tree oil, and lavender oil. You mix ’em all together in the right proportions, and it is so soothing and it instantly takes the itch away and it’s so good. So, I would call that an excellent sexual health oil. KS: Yeah! That sounds good. TR: Yeah! But so, my favorite middle note is marjoram, because traditionally, it’s been listed as addressing sex addiction. And I was like, “What?! That is so weird! That’s such a weird, specific thing.” But then you read into it a little more, and you look at the chemistry of marjoram oil, and it’s made of stuff that is both calming and stimulating. Which sounds really contradictory, but then if you look at traditional uses again, it’s used to help you focus. And it’s also used to help us open up and connect with other people so we don’t feel as alone and isolated. And feeling alone and isolated, I think, is a major piece in addiction, particularly sex addiction. So I think, not only does it invite us to connect with other people – which is huge – but it also focuses us. So when you put it in a sex blend or an aphrodisiac blend, a blend where you’re trying to “set the mood…” I don’t like the idea of aphrodisiac blends being like, “I’m gonna attract this person!” because that’s rude. Talk to them! But if you know you already like them and you know they like scents, and you wanna put a nice scent in the room, I love marjoram as the middle note because I feel like it takes the stuff from the base note – whether it’s relaxing, or conjuring up a sensual feeling, or trying to build a sexual appetite – it’s gonna take that energy and help you focus in on it. KS: Cool! TR: Yeah! So one of my favorite top notes for sexual health is pink grapefruit, because it’s supposed to help us be in our bodies, in a way that’s pleasurable and fun and feels good. Most of the food-related essential oils, like pink grapefruit and cinnamon, are going to, in some way, put us in our bodies. But there’s something that’s particularly playful about pink grapefruit. And that word, “playful,” reminds me of my other favorite top note for sex essential oil blends, which is tangerine. Because that one’s all about being playful and silly and cute and bringing us back to our inner child. In a sexual context, I don’t know how many people would feel comfortable saying, “I want to bring out my inner child!” but I think that’s so important. I think the inner child does know how to have good sex. KS: Sex is grown-up playtime! TR: Yeah, exactly! The cool thing about aromatherapy is that the molecules in the essential oils are so small that they can pass through the blood-brain barrier. So when you smell it, it actually goes directly to your brain and works on the brain, which is how it can release serotonin and all those things. I love aromatherapy because it’s an immediate medicine that you can pick up at any health food store. Smelling something, you can quickly pick up and do. It’s not a tool that is gonna cure everything, but generally, it’s a tool you can immediately use, and it kind of holds your hand while you work through your stuff. When I use an oil, it’s not like it can fix all the damage that’s been done, but it allows me some serenity and it works on the brain so that you have more space to work through those things and not be as triggered or as overwhelmed while you do that. It kind of works like food, in that pleasure-centre kind of way, because even though you’re not eating it, it is going into your body. And it’s also not gonna have the same side effects as, say, an antidepressant. Like, if I’m having a panic attack, I can go huff some clary sage, and it won’t have the lasting, shitty effects of a lorazepam. But I can get the same effect, or a similar-enough, or a different-but-just-as-useful.
KS: Cool! So, let’s shift gears a little bit. Can you tell me about the Body Pride workshop that you’re running? TR: Yeah! So, as a sex educator and doula, and a friend of Caitlin K. Roberts, I’ve been to a few of her Body Pride workshops as a helper and as a participant. And after a few of those workshops, somebody suggested that there be a post-partum Body Pride. Women are so under attack for how their bodies “should” look, and the post-partum period – the period right after birth – is particularly hard, because I think there’s all sorts of pressures around getting back to your “pre-baby body.” You’re not gonna have the body you had before. You had a fucking baby! That’s amazing! Why would your body be the same after that? It shouldn’t be, because nothing’s the same after that. And that’s a good thing. Or it can be a good thing. KS: Totally! TR: So we thought it would be helpful to have a Body Pride just for people who’ve had that experience, because I think that transitioning from a young person into adulthood has its own unique set of struggles – and then you have to do it again, in a different way, with a slightly different set of obstacles, in post-partum. KS: How much are you changing Caitlin’s basic Body Pride curriculum to be specifically for post-partum folks? TR: Not a lot. We’re keeping it pretty on-point. I won’t be doing a photoshoot at the end, mostly because I don’t have the skills. We just felt that it wouldn’t be appropriate, and we don’t have somebody with that skillset. Not knowing what will come up for people, I wasn’t sure if that would be the best way to end it. I am gonna end it with a little dance party, to keep it light. The other thing is, I sat down and had a consult with a woman who was very interested in this post-partum Body Pride idea, and she really helped me to build in some checking-in kind of stuff. So there might be a little extra care around appreciating that not everybody coming to this event is going to feel great about their body. It’s not that you can’t celebrate your body in the space, but we all need to be mindful that not everybody is gonna be able to celebrate like you can, necessarily. KS: True. TR: The other thing that’s different is that people who are breastfeeding – from 0 to 6 months – can bring their baby, because that’s a really tough period to not be around your baby, if you’re breastfeeding. KS: Do you have any other workshops coming up after that one? TR: I do! I have a Pleasure After Kids workshop coming up at the LGBTQ Parenting Network. It’s gonna be at the 519. It’s on December 4th from 2 to 4 p.m., and I think it’s free. I’ll also be holding an Aromatherapy for Sexual Health event on November 22nd from 7 to 9:30 p.m. at Anarres Apothecary (749 Dovercourt Road, north of Dovercourt and Bloor). There will be treats! KS: Awesome! Where can people find you online if they want to book you for services or just find out more about you? TR: They can visit me at TynanRhea.com and SisterhoodWellness.com. [Ed. note: Tynan’s also on Instagram and Twitter.] KS: Thanks, Tynan!
Tantus has done a pretty significant overhaul of this plug, to the point that the new and old Ryders look and feel substantially different from each other. I’m not sure the new one lives up to the “sleep number” hype of the old one, because it’s smaller – both lengthwise and girthwise – and therefore wouldn’t make my vag feel as tight to anyone fucking me while the plug was inside me. So when I see the particular fuckbuddy who’s a fan of that sensation, I’ll pack my old Ryder in my toy bag – but aside from that one aspect, I overwhelmingly prefer the new-and-improved version of the Ryder.
The new Ryder is also made of a silky, matte silicone, which glides against the skin more smoothly than the sticky, glossy silicone the Ryder used to be made of. It collects less lint and debris, too. (Nobody wants lint and debris in their butt. Nobody.)
