Review: Liberator Jaz

Kate Sloan

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“Hang on, stop for a second, I wanna put something under my hips,” I told my beau when he’d been fucking me for a few minutes. It felt pretty good, but I wanted to feel him more: deeper, harder, more insistent. I grabbed my Liberator Jaz from beside the bed and slid it underneath me. When he pushed back inside me, everything felt instantly better for both of us. The intimacy and pleasure had both been cranked up in one fell swoop.

I used to think it was silly to spend exorbitant amounts of money on “sexual positioning aids,” when you could so easily just use pillows to achieve the same ends. However, that was before I actually tried some of these positioning aids. Sure, they’re a luxury, and regular ol’ pillows approximate the effect. But Liberator products feel effortless and exact in a way that pillows don’t. There’s no shuffling them around, fluffing them up, or stacking them on top of each other to achieve the ideal height. You just stick one where you want it and it does what it’s supposed to.

13385668_1603315256648799_542192948_nI already own a Liberator Wedge, and it’s huge. I appreciate its support when I’m reading (or blogging) in bed, but I don’t pull it out during sex that much, because it’s just awkwardly wide for my purposes. It’s great for leaning on when I’m getting fucked from behind, but I almost never use it during missionary PIV sex or masturbation because I find it takes me too long to get into position on it, due to how big and bulky it is.

The Jaz, by contrast, is about 15 inches wide to the Wedge’s 24. It’s like the difference between tongs and tweezers when you’re trying to tame your eyebrows. I certainly don’t mean to throw shade at the Wedge or folks who use it, but the Jaz is just soooo much better suited to how I tend to have sex. It’s small and convenient enough that I actually use it, instead of thinking, “Nah, that’d be too much work and take too long, so I’ll just keep getting fucked flat on the bed even though I want a better angle.”

Speaking of angles… There is a difference between the Wedge and the Jaz in that category too, and it’s subtle but important. The Wedge’s angle is supposedly 27 degrees, and the Jaz’s is slightly less steep than that. For my particular body, the Wedge feels a leeeetle bit too high, tipping my hips so my belly and ribs feel squished. The Jaz’s angle is marginally gentler and I love it.

The Jaz also has the benefit of being substantially cheaper ($59) than the Wedge ($90). It has one of the most reasonable price tags in the whole Liberator catalogue. Yay!

As with most Liberator products, the outer fabric casing of the Jaz can be zipped off and laundered. It has a moisture-resistant liner so it can contend with your squirt and lube, but if you tend to really soak the bed, you might wanna toss a Throe over top for convenience’s sake. My Jaz’s microsuede material is soft and comfortable to the touch, but grippy enough that it doesn’t slide around when I’m getting fucked on it.

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Here, ranked, are my favorite uses for the Jaz:

  1. Under my butt while getting fucked in missionary. This is truly primo. It allows my partner to get super deep inside me, pressing deliciously against my G-spot and A-spot as he does so. It also makes it easier for him to leave a little room between us, so I can use my fingers or a vibe on my clit to get myself off. But if he does drop his body down onto mine so we’re pressed together, it feels like we get even closer and more intertwined than we do without the Jaz. My hips push up against his with no effort on my part, and everything feels better and more intense.
  2. Under my butt while a partner goes down on me. It’s like my vulva is being served to him on a silver platter, except the platter is made of hot pink microsuede. Some partners have also told me there’s less of a strain on their neck or jaw when I use a positioning aid during oral sex.
  3. Under my hips and lower belly while getting fucked from behind. My partner can stand at the edge of the bed to fuck me this way, or just lie on top of me. These positions create intense G-spot sensations on their own, but the addition of the Jaz makes them even more mindblowing. Elevating my hips also allows my partner to get in there deeper – always a plus for me, what with my love of A-spot stimulation.
  4. Under my hips and lower belly while getting spanked. This creates a butt-exhibiting elevation similar to when I’m draped over a partner’s knees. There is something so vulnerable and hot about having your ass in the air and ripe for a smackin’.
  5. Under my butt while getting fingerbanged or pounded with a toy. Angling is less of a struggle with fingers and toys than it is with a penis, but somehow the Jaz still manages to make these acts feel more intense to me.
  6. Under my butt while masturbating. My hips get tilted toward me so I have easier access to my clit and vag, even with my chubby belly in the way. I particularly like to use the Jaz for masturbation sessions I know will be marathons, involving lots of hard and fast thrusting. I can go for much longer when I don’t have to strain to reach the toy I’m fucking myself with.

I haven’t yet had the opportunity to use the Jaz during blowjobs or anal sex, but I’d imagine it would help with those things too. Basically it’s a genius invention, so simple and yet infinitely useful. I adore my Liberator Jaz and I know I’ll use it for many years to come!

 

No one sent me this product to review. I bought one my own damn self because I wanted it that much!

Sex on the First Date: Good Omen or Death Knell?

Kate Sloan

IMG_0406I think my last boyfriend cast a spell on me. And he used an Eleven as his magic wand.

Our first date was one of those electric evenings that turned into a white-hot night and then a passionate morning. High on the novelty of each other, we rolled around in my bed just after sunrise, doing wonderful things with fingers and mouths and toys. I barely knew him, but I was hooked on him. I was hooked on him, but I barely knew him.

I remember being pleased with myself that I was able to have sex on a first date. It was my first time doing so, and I took it as a sign that I’d bested my anxiety, at least in this one area. I felt powerful, sexy, strong. And the sex was so immediately good that it seemed to foreshadow more good sex and a rad-as-hell relationship.

But the magic of that first date wrote a cheque that we, as a couple, couldn’t actually cash. I found out quickly that we weren’t compatible – ideologically, emotionally, sexually. Still, the excitement of that first bang-sesh hung over our relationship like a spectre. I kept trying to get back to that sense of electricity and ease. I thought, if I could just be cool and cute and fun and sexy enough, like I was when we met, maybe we would rediscover our chemistry and our sexual connection. But that never happened.

I’m not in the business of telling people when they should or shouldn’t have sex. That goes against the basic tenets of sex-positivity. But for myself personally, I’ve been thinking lately that first-date sex might not be the smartest choice. It kicks my mania and obsessiveness into high gear, making me fixate on someone who hasn’t necessarily proved they deserve my resolute attention. Sex releases juicy neurotransmitters that encourage feelings of attachment, and while that’s often useful, I’m not sure a first date is an emotionally safe time for me to feel those feelings. I’d rather wait until I know someone well enough that I can trust them with my gleeful gushing, my crush-y aftermath.

Having made this decision, I recently started seeing someone new and purposely waited to have sex with him – even though, a couple hours into our first meeting, I thought, “Yeah, I could bang this guy.” I remembered my best friend telling me to view my beaux realistically, instead of through rose-colored glasses. I wanted to take some more time to determine: is this really a good guy who I want to kiss/bang/potentially date? And I knew that sex would distort my ability to assess that. It usually does.

The usual (by which I mean: heteronormative, patriarchal) discourse about first-date sex says that your responsibility as a woman is to withhold sex as long as possible, because that creates the mystery and intrigue that will hook a man and make him stay. It’s said that “men give love to get sex, and women give sex to get love.” I think that’s all bullshit, but it’s interesting that I came to the same conclusion – sex on the first date is a bad idea for me – through entirely different reasoning.

There’s another reason I’m against first-date sex for myself, and it’s a more fun one: waiting builds desire. My attractions are rarely instant; a person’s hotness quotient in my mind is a gradually-stacked pyramid of good jokes, thoughtful gestures, smart thoughts, feminist allyship, and social intelligence. If I think you’re cool on the first date, I have the potential to think you’re a scintillating mega-babe by the third date – but probably not before that, because I need to know you to find you deeply hot. Rushing into sex with near-strangers feels, to me, like eating pasta that’s so lightly cooked it can’t even be considered al dente – sure, it’s food, and it’ll fill you up, but you’re not gonna be thrilled about it.

When sex finally happens, I want to be aching for it. I want to be ravenously curious about what’s in your pants and what’s in the darkest, lewdest corners of your brain. I want us to know and like each other well enough that the desire for sex is a desire for each other, specifically, more than it’s a generic desire for naked bodies, warm mouths and orgasms.

For similar reasons, I prefer not to sext with people I barely know. Counterintuitively, it tends to make me lose my boner for someone, if I had one to begin with. When a near-stranger pushes my sexual boundaries, it either bores me or sets off alarms in my head, even if a trusted partner could turn me on to no end by pushing those same exact boundaries. To me, when sexting is hot, it’s because of the person on the other side of the screen, not just the things they want to do to me. And if we barely know each other, I’m just not invested enough for that spark to materialize. I don’t care.

Maybe this’ll change eventually. Maybe there will come a time when I’m able to keep a cool head after having sex with a new person. But for the time being, taking my time works spectacularly. I’m revved up and ready by the time we get to bangin’, and the experience itself is less like undercooked pasta and more like a thick steak marinated to perfection. And when we’re done, I don’t lie there feeling oddly empty and anxious; instead, I feel happy, peaceful, and accomplished, like I just won a marathon I’ve spent months training for.

 

What are your thoughts and experiences re: sex on the first date?

Monthly Faves: Paddles, Porn, & Pompadours

Kate Sloan

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Not to be bragadocious, but July was a month of good, consistent, frequent sex for me. I am a lucky lady. I also gave more BJs this month than I perhaps ever have in my life. When it rains, it pours… Wink wink!

Sex toys

• I’ve loved my Fucking Sculptures Double Trouble ever since I got it, but this month my love for it was particularly intense. I had two different partners use it on me – it’s one of my favorite toys to get fucked with! – and they did a wonderful job every time. I love the moment when a partner tilts the Double Trouble just so and they find my A-spot; it’s a triumph for both of us. When Bex and I stayed in an Airbnb for a couple days to throw a party and make porn in mid-July, the only two toys I brought were the DT and my Magic Wand; I had a bunch of sex that weekend and those were the only toys I needed.

• A total sweetheart bought me a wooden hairbrush from my wishlist. It surprised me by becoming one of my favorite spanking implements almost immediately: it’s my ideal blend between thuddy and stingy. And, as a bonus, when my hair gets all messed up from a spanking and the sex that ensues, I can smooth it into submission with the brush. I have a feeling this toy will hold a place of honor in my purse from now on.

• Two impact-play toys in one list? Sure, why not… I bought a paddle from KinkMachineWorks that’s made of Lexan, a transparent material similar to plexiglass or acrylic. It’s unusually thuddy for a paddle (yes, good, yes please). My friend Georgia gave me some killer bruises with it, one sad drunken night, after which I felt a great deal better.

Fantasy fodder

• Remember when I told you I wasn’t that into PIV (penis-in-vagina) sex anymore? Yeah, turns out that when I’m seeing someone who’s really good at fucking me the way I like, I get right back on dat PIV train. There were even times this month when a partner was fucking me with a toy and I imagined it was his dick, which… isn’t how that usually goes for me.

• I love a good erotic audio. This one was a favorite of mine this month. God bless people who have the gift of a beautiful voice and put it to use in the form of kinky smut. (This one is also wonderful if you, like me, like to use sex and kink as motivators for productivity.)

• Binge-watching House always gets my sexual wheels spinning… I’ve gone through phases of being carnally obsessed with Chase, Wilson, and Thirteen, but I think my sexual tastes are growing up because it’s House himself who I’ve been fantasizing about a lot recently. Bex wrote up some of their dom-House headcanons and I kinda melted onto the floor. House is waaaay too much of an unstable asshole to date, but I’d sure as hell let him hit me with that cane while I was bent over his desk…

Sexcetera

• A sexual highlight of this month was when I made blowjob porn with a partner and then gave him another blowjob off-camera as aftercare. It’s interesting how much the mental context within which you perform a sexual act can influence how that act makes you feel. Giving head on camera was hot, fun, and a novelty for me, but it left me feeling a bit empty and sad because it lacked the validation and intimacy I’m used to when I go down on someone. Giving him a “real” BJ less than an hour afterward was exactly the fix I needed, and maybe that’s strange, but hey, it worked for me. (And he sure as hell wasn’t complaining.)

• It was a particularly spanking-heavy month for me. Various people – sexual partners and platonic friends alike – consensually spanked me with a wide array of items: a silicone paddle, a Lexan paddle, a suede flogger, a stone crop, a book about spanking, a wooden hairbrush, a glass dildo, and of course, hands. The deeper I dive down the rabbit hole of impact play, the more convinced I am that it’s vital to both my sexuality and my personal psychology.

• I had two important sexual anniversaries this month: the 5th marked five years since the first blowjob I ever gave, and the 22nd marked eight years since the first time I ever had sex. I didn’t really celebrate these milestones, except by having a lot of sex (including blowjobs aplenty, natch).

Femme stuff

• I am currently obsessed with doing my hair in a pompadour with lots of bobby pins and a bandana. It’s an easy and relatively quick style that keeps my hair off my face in this sticky summer heat. It involves a lot of teasing and smoothing, which I do with the aforementioned wooden hairbrush!

• Bex and I went shopping specifically for clothes to do porn in. We were very efficient: after quick stops at American Apparel and Ardene, I’d amassed some pink striped knee-high socks, a low-cut black crop top, a translucent pink tank top, a pink headband, a pink bow barrette, a pink dog collar, and a black lace-up crop top that I should probably wear to cosplay as Sexy Wednesday Addams. I feel more balanced now that the slutty section of my wardrobe is more thoroughly fleshed out.

• I was super into the lip combo I used when getting mega-glam for porn: ColourPop lip pencil in “Heart On” + a hot pink Bite Beauty gloss. Pretty, sexy, and obnoxiously pink. Yeah, that sounds about right.

Little things

Dramatic late-night back-porch nudes. Taking American friends to their first Toronto weed dispensaries. A boy telling me he wants to date me by sending me this song. “How did the clothes end up all on the floor? Didn’t we just break each other’s hearts?” Sharing a sundae with a handsome pal while thoroughly stoned. Sharing fuckbuddy disaster stories. Sasha doing my makeup for a kinda-date-that-wasn’t-a-date. Getting fingerbanged so good and then being told that making me come that way is “like wrestling with a little monster” because my vag muscles clench so hard when I’m close. The outpouring of support I got when my Establishment article went up. A boy giving me one of his shirts to wear home when we couldn’t find my dress. Accidental I-love-you’s. Sophie Delancey interviewing me on Sex City Radio. Lavender oil. Drunkenly discussing sexual astrology on the subway. Taylor misreading Georgia‘s Twitter handle (LikeYourSilence) as “Like Your Silicone.” Monster Factory. “I want you to come all over daddy’s cock like you did earlier…” Beautiful porn cinematography. Hippo Campus. Bravery. When vanilla partners inadvertently dom me. Friends who understand and accept my introversion and other psychological quirks. Kate McKinnon. Therapy spankings.

Review: Rouge Garments Red Padded Collar

Kate Sloan

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If there’s one thing I’ve learned from practicing kink, it’s that there’s no such thing as objectively good or objectively bad.

What I like might gross you out. What you like might hurt me too much. What I hate might make you laugh. What you hate might turn me on. When it comes to kink, one man’s trash is another man’s pleasure.

I thought about that a lot while trying the Rouge Garments red padded collar I was sent by Bondage Bunnies. It’s awkwardly wide (2.75 inches, to be precise), making it feel like a neck brace when I wear it. The thick padding seems like it would increase comfort, but it actually makes the collar bulkier and more restrictive. The collar’s thickness and rigidness make it difficult to turn my head while it’s on me. Its clasp is difficult to undo on my own, often taking several minutes of pushing, pulling, sweating and swearing before it’ll pop free.

imageBut look at that list of defects again, and you’ll see that this collar is surely exactly what some people are looking for. Bondage toys are, by their nature, meant to be restrictive and uncomfortable; it’s just that some people like more extreme levels of restriction and discomfort than others. For me, this collar was too much; for some folks, it’d be ideal.

My relationship to collars is, I will admit, somewhat frivolous. Aside from this one, I also own a pink and black Aslan Leather collar and one from Ardene that is technically a dog collar. For the most part, I consider them fashion accessories – but in a deeper sense, I do think of the Aslan one as “my collar.” I put it on when I’m feeling subby and want the sense of calm I get from wearing it – or when a dom partner tells me to.

My Aslan collar is suitable for both everyday wear and kink play, because it’s unobtrusive and not especially over-the-top. Wearing it in public makes me look more like a goth babe or a fashion-forward scene kid than a full-on kinkster. Its 1.5″ width is noticeable without being annoying, and it’s made of leather so soft and pliable that it’s always comfortable.

None of that is true for the Rouge Garments collar – but I know some people want to notice their collar when it’s on, want to be aware of it at every moment, want to be constricted by its insistent bulk. And to those people, I say: I will not yuck your yum, although it isn’t mine.

 

Thanks to Bondage Bunnies for sending me this product to review!

Meditation, Mindfulness, & My Slutty Mouth

Kate Sloan

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Two major things happened to me in February: I had one of the worst depressive and anxious spells of my life, and I became obsessed with giving blowjobs.

I don’t think it was a coincidence that these things happened at the same time. We’re drawn to what we most need at any given moment: when your body’s deficient in magnesium, for example, you might crave chocolate. And likewise, I see now that when I most needed to clear my mind and focus up, I craved the sexual act that gave me that experience most readily.

This connection didn’t really hit me until the owner of my favorite BJ dick skipped town and I found myself in a fellatio drought for a while. As my anxious and depressive episode worsened, I craved blowjobs the way I’ve craved other life-affirming touchstones: nutritious food, quality friend-time, creative expression, cat cuddles. It ran deeper than my typical carnal hankerings. It felt more like a core psychological need.

When you struggle with anxiety and depression, people constantly offer unsolicited advice. So I’ve heard it all. “Get more sunshine!” “Try yoga!” “Eat more greens!” One suggestion I’ve heard many times is mindfulness. This seems counterintuitive at first blush – if my issue is feeling sad and scared, won’t focusing on those feelings just make me sadder and scared-er? – but I actually find it works the opposite way. Acknowledging my negative self-talk, greeting it like an old friend instead of slamming the door in its face, diffuses some of its power. And then I refocus on my breath and my body instead of my buzzing brain, and those quotidian sensations are calming in their simplicity. It’s not a magic pill, but it’s something.

That’s what blowjobs can be for me: a venue for mindfulness. They force me into my body and don’t allow me to fall back into my anxiety-brain until the deed is done.

When I first started giving BJs at age 19, I didn’t find it hot at all. “My mouth just isn’t an erotic zone for me,” I remember telling a friend. I felt all those mouth sensations very vividly – the weight of a cock on my tongue, the texture of the skin sliding over my lips, the smells and tastes – and they captured my attention so completely that I couldn’t focus on other things, like my own arousal or pleasure. I hadn’t yet developed a concept of sexual enjoyment that didn’t centre on my own genitals, so I interpreted my BJ dalliances as, “My mouth just isn’t eroticized.” Wow, how wrong I was.

That sensory overwhelm is the main reason I enjoy BJs so much now. They are unique among sexual acts for me in this way. When someone’s fucking me, fingering me, or even going down on me, I can tune it out to some extent if I want to. My mind can wander into anxiety-land, and sometimes I need to remind myself, “Oh, right, I’m having sex right now!” I never, ever experience that with a blowjob. I can’t. My mouth is so front-and-center in my perception that I can’t think about much else when I’m slobbin’ on the knob. It’s just me and the dick, and nothing else matters.

Leo Babauta calls this concept “the universe of a single task” (albeit in a rather different context!). He writes that you should “make each task its own universe, its own specialness.” This is an approach I try (and often fail) to bring to my relationships, my creative work, my very existence as a human. But for some reason, when it comes to blowjobs, I succeed. A beej can be my entire world for its whole duration and I don’t feel deprived or distracted. It is my everything.

This is highly affirming at times when I feel like a fuck-up in every other arena. Maybe I’ve missed a work deadline, or I’m fighting with someone I love, or my financial situation is unsteady. It doesn’t matter. Faced with a dick to suck, all that other shit fades away. A blowjob is a task with crystal-clear parameters and expectations, unlike many other challenges we face. I know exactly what I am supposed to do and how to do it, especially if the person I’m blowing is someone whose body and preferences I’m familiar with. I’m not an Olympic-level cocksucker, but I feel fairly confident in my skillz. Giving a good beej makes me feel empowered and successful even when I don’t feel that way about my life as a whole.

Of course, I’m a kinkster, so my brain is forever swimming in kink, and that probably informs the psychologically restorative way I experience BJs. Being a good girl – in this case, by giving good head – is a way for me to feel valuable when I otherwise don’t. My boss, editor, dad, and best friend could all be fuming at me, but if I’m pleasing a dom partner, that’s all I’m thinking about at that moment – and I’ll feel great about it. Maybe that’s fucked up, but there’ve been times when the satisfaction I glean from pleasing a partner was the boost I needed after depression dug me into a hole in every area of life.

Giving head is also an activity that gives you moment-to-moment feedback on how you’re doing. That is precious and rare in this world of anxiety-provoking uncertainty. I can try out a new trick during a BJ and know in under five seconds whether it’s a flop or a worthy addition to my repertoire. Nifty!

This all makes it sound like I approach fellatio as a zen monk would approach his meditation cushion, and that’s not quite right. True, sometimes kneeling at a partner’s feet to take his dick into my mouth feels akin to prostrating myself before a statue of a revered deity. But there is, of course, a sexy element too. Beyond just having a straight-up BJ kink – which I absolutely do – I also think the psychological calm I get from sucking cock takes the pressure off my sexual brakes. The less anxiety and overwhelm I’m feeling, the easier it is for sexual arousal to flow into my body and mind. Abraham-Hicks says your mood is like a cork held underwater, and it rises fast as soon as you let go of it; I find it’s the same with my arousal. The less I cling to my anxiety, the quicker I turn into a hot puddle of arousal in the presence of things that turn me on. Hence, a meditative blowjob – or other anxiety-quashers like marijuana, booze, and sleepiness – makes me hornier by sheer virtue of eliminating my stressors.

Naturally, this process relies on having a partner I trust – someone who I feel safe relaxing around. But I’ve found this penile peace with more casual partners, too. It’s a nice moment for both of us – him luxuriating in pleasure, and me zoning out on his dick. It’s why, for example, my Tinder hookup in Minneapolis asked me mid-beej if I wanted to “do anything else with that cock,” and I looked up at him with confusion in my eyes and said, “…No.” It had been a couple months since I’d had a hard dick in my mouth, and dammit, I needed my fix.

 

Do you find certain sexual acts meditative or calming? Got any stories or suggestions?