No-Shave November Made Me Think About Femininity

Kate Sloan

I did No-Shave November this year. Not to raise money for anything (although I did contribute some dough to a family member’s Movember collection, in awe of his new beard). I just wanted to give it a shot.

I’ve been a pretty consistently clean-shaven lass ever since puberty. Ever the precocious child (and an early bloomer, hormones-wise), I wanted to know what shaving was like, so I started shaving the hair on my legs and pelvic mound almost immediately after it first came in. I have a vivid memory of my mom spotting my shaved mons in the bath (so I must’ve still been young enough that my mom was bathing me?!) and her saying disapprovingly, “That’s something adult ladies do.” But still, I continued to shave.

Like every girl, I was ushered into a world of brainwashed, media-hyped, sweet-and-sanitized femininity. There were no hairy-lady role models in my life, sexy or otherwise. As I grew into adolescence, the girls at my school became increasingly mean and judgmental, as middle-school girls are wont to do, and I never dared deviate from any norm for fear of social ostracization (which, sadly, happened anyway).

Throughout my first sexual relationship, I kept my pubes and pits shaved. My partner went through a phase where she was desperately curious to know what it would be like to go down on a bushy twat, but I would not grant her that favor. I found pubes insufferably itchy and they also noticeably cut down on my sexual sensitivity.

My second (and current) partner was surprised the first time he put his hand in my panties, having never encountered a hairless lady-garden before. This, in turn, surprised me when he told me later. I had thought of shaved pussies as the norm until then, perhaps due to the porn I sometimes watched.

These days, I’m hanging out in a lot of queer and feminist spaces, as usual, and these are the sort of environments where body hair is accepted and sometimes even encouraged. But even still, I tuck my legs under me to hide their stubble; I keep my cardigan buttoned so no one will see my fuzzy pits. Though I purposely fill my head with hairy-lady inspiration (Amanda Palmer and Sadie Lune, for example), I still feel… well, dysphoria isn’t quite the right word, but perhaps what I feel is a very mild form of it.

And the trouble is, I don’t know whether my feelings are media-influenced or whether my particular brand of girly/femme-y gender identity just doesn’t mesh with body hair. How can anyone ever know whether their feelings are culturally induced or personally valid or both?

During No-Shave November, I also grew out my bush, though I kept my labia shaved because they really do itch horribly when I let ‘em run wild. My partner has no qualms about any body hair configuration I choose – he always finds nice things to say about my body, no matter how much fur it has amassed or is missing – so that didn’t influence my decision. I grew out the longest bush I’ve ever had and spent a lot of time combing it with my fingers, marveling at how weird and unusual it felt in the context of my own body.

Ultimately, on December 2nd, after snapping the photos used in this post in my bathroom mirror, I shaved my pits. And then, earlier this week, I attacked my bush with scissors and then a razor. The smoothness feels odd after all this hairiness but it’s also reassuring; I feel more like me again. I don’t feel more attractive; I just feel less weird.

What’s your relationship to body hair?

Review: Sqweel Go

Kate Sloan

I am an oral sex fiend, so the Sqweel has always intrigued me. The latest iteration of this inventive cunnilingus simulator is called the Sqweel Go, and it fixes all the problems reviewers complained about with the original: it’s smaller, stronger, and rechargeable. It’s a great toy and I’m sure it will be well-received, but it just didn’t do the trick for me.

First off: the size. The original Sqweel was large enough that it made it impossible to use a dildo in conjunction with it, and that sucked, so I’m glad they fixed it. But the adorably tiny tongues of the Sqweel Go just don’t have the same impact on my clit that the bigger ones did. It’s like receiving cunnilingus from a pixie: a cute novelty, but ultimately ineffectual. More sensitive clits will enjoy the reprieve from traditional, pressure-friendly toys, but if you’re even slightly a power queen, I don’t think this’ll do it for ya.

See, I can have an orgasm from the Sqweel Go, but it doesn’t really feel like an orgasm. The tongues dance so lightly and quickly across my clit that it’s like the bare minimum amount of stimulation that could possibly get me off; the orgasms feel more like I’m floating off a cliff than leaping from it. The original Sqweel more-or-less replicated the profound orgasms I get from oral sex, but the sensations of the Sqweel Go pale in comparison.

The toy’s size contributes to this, and so does the pressure problem. You can’t press down on the Sqweel (any Sqweel). As soon as the tongues encounter any resistance, they slow or stop. And as someone who directs my boyfriend to squeeze my clit rhythmically with his lips when I reach orgasm, I find that I need that pressure – if not during the build-up, then certainly during the orgasm itself. So the climaxes I experience from the Sqweel Go tend to be disappointing and unsatisfying. Bummer.

In sectors other than sensation and size, I don’t perceive a whole lot of difference between this Sqweel and the previous ones. It’s USB-rechargeable, which I guess is better than batteries, but hasn’t had much of an effect on the toy’s power as far as I can tell. It’s quieter, because it’s smaller. It still has three patterns and they still disappoint me (too many pauses in between “licks”). It’s conveniently pocket-sized, but I’m not sure I’ll encounter a situation in which I’ll actually want to carry it around in my pocket.

I think I’ve matured as a reviewer, because this is a toy that has given me several orgasms and yet I’m able to say that I don’t like it and articulate why. It can sometimes be confusing when that happens – your brain, swathed in yummy post-orgasmic neurotransmitters, wants you to like whatever got you off – but when said orgasms are as literally anticlimactic as the ones I get from the Sqweel Go, it’s hard to feel appreciative.

Review: Icicles no. 6

Kate Sloan

Glass toys are such a weird change from other materials when you haven’t used one before, or when (like me) it’s been a while since you’ve used one. They can feel unyielding and uncomfortable, like they’re infiltrating your insides instead of gently slipping into you.

I had that experience with the Icicles no. 6 initially: it awkwardly pressed my NuvaRing into my vaginal wall, bumped my cervix constantly, and generally felt like a bit of an assault.

However, then I had the bright idea to get turned on first. I had forgotten how important this is when using glass toys, or any other kind of super-firm toy. Especially for those of us who, like me, have a somewhat weak-hearted vagina.

This dildo is suuuper long – 7 inches, in fact. Part of that is because it’s harness-compatible and has smartly factored in the inch you often lose when you put a dildo in a harness. But if you’re not using it that way, it can seem intimidatingly long. I can only fit about two-thirds of it inside my short-ish vagina; even at maximum arousal, I can only get it in up to the first ring, so my vag doesn’t get the benefit of that particular texture.

I do get to feel the little nubs, though, and they are fun. In fact, they’re the reason I requested this dildo from Sensual Intelligence: I had never tried a glass toy with that texture before. The modest 1.4" diameter of this dildo makes the nubs a subtle sensation, not an overpowering one. They just provide a little bit of scritchy friction against my vaginal walls that is surprisingly lovely.

The dildo’s head is flared a little bit, as any good dildo’s head should be, if you ask me. It’s too narrow to stimulate my G-spot with any intensity, but if I angle it just right, it can get all up in my A-spot like a champ. Y’all know that I basically live for A-spot stimulation, and this dildo manages to provide it while also gently stroking my walls with its nubblies, so it gets a big gold star from me in terms of sensation (provided I can keep it from bumping into my cervix, which takes a little practice).

Some people have reported that the paint on Icicles toys tends to flake off. The Icicles line is made by Pipedream, a company known for its shitty toys – so yeah, I wouldn’t be surprised if paint was coming off in people’s orifices. Personally I haven’t noticed that with this toy, but I can see that the pink parts are painted on the surface (messily, too!) rather than being embedded in the toy like they ought to be, so I am a little concerned. If you want an Icicles toy without the risk of paint problems, try their clear rippled dildo.

While the Icicles no. 6 obviously isn’t perfect (nothing by Pipedream is), it has produced some pretty intense orgasms for me because of its A-spot access and firm feeling. Just make sure you warm up before you use it!

Book Review: Serving Him

Kate Sloan

I felt pretty starstruck when I saw Rachel Kramer Bussel at the Feminist Porn Conference, because I’ve been reading her erotica anthologies for years and I’ve determined that we are more-or-less sexually in sync – at least, if her story selections are anything to go by. We dig the same sexual acts, the same turns of phrase. So I always gravitate toward RKB over any other anthology editor, because I know I can count on her to deliver something that’ll turn me on. Serving Him is indeed edited by RKB, but I don’t feel quite the same about it as I feel about some of her other works.

I judge erotica anthologies by how many stories bore me versus how many make me put my hand in my panties, and this book has a medium score on that scale. As the title suggests, it’s full of juicy short stories about dominant men and submissive women (yes, this is a hetero-oriented tome).

Some favorite stories of mine include Lori Selke’s “What You Deserve,” which features fancy food and spanking; Maxine Marsh’s “Tackling Jessica,” in which a football move becomes a fantasy; and J. Sinclaire’s “Duo,” a delightfully smutty MMF three-way.

Some stories in this book contain elements that drain the arousal right out of me – breath-play, humiliation, and dubious consent, for example. While there are obviously folks for whom these things are the height of hotness, it actually made me somewhat anxious to read about them. The Tumblr social justice community has embraced “trigger warnings” wholeheartedly, and I’m wondering if it’s time for kinky/edgy erotica anthologies to do the same thing – sort of in the same vein as how Yes Means Yes uses themed keywords to help you decide which chapters you want to read and which you want to skip.

I also found there were some stories which focused overwhelmingly on the psychological aspects of Dom/sub dynamics, with very little actual smut. This, again, is something that doesn’t hit the spot for me, but may be perfect for folks who find the non-bedroom parts of D/s relationships just as exciting as the actual sexual encounters. To each their own, right?

I should note that I like Dom/sub scenarios, contrary to what this review might indicate. But I guess I only like ‘em when they’re focused on sex and maybe a little spanking – the other stuff is peripheral or antithetical to my personal sexuality, while it might be central to others’.

Thanks so much to Cleis Press for sending me Serving Him to review!

Review: Tantus Pack ‘n’ Play #1

Kate Sloan

I used to cringe over realistic dildos, but now I am staunchly in favor of them. The Tantus Pack ‘n’ Play #1 is one such dildo and, predictably for Tantus, it’s lovely.

For those who don’t know what a “pack ‘n’ play” is, let me bring you up to speed: it’s a (usually realistic) dildo that’s flexible enough to be “packed” (worn under clothes, in a harness) but still firm enough that it can be used for “play” (i.e. fucking) as necessary. They’re great for trans guys seeking to deal with dysphoria, so I hear, but they’re also ideal for anyone of any gender who plans on engaging in strap-on play and wants to have their cock at the ready – maybe after a dinner date or something. They’re really quite an ingenious invention.

At least, in theory. This Tantus pack ‘n’ play works wonderfully for play but leaves something to be desired in the packing department. It’s squishy, yeah, but not so much that you can wear it under close-fitting pants without looking like you have a boner. If that’s the look you’re going for, more power to you, but it’s far from discreet.

The squishiness is perfection and I dearly hope Tantus will come out with more toys that have this VixSkin-like flexibility. It’s much more comfortable than their O2 formulation, if you ask me, but it’s still got enough firmness that it doesn’t feel wimpy in my vag.

This toy is a total A-spot champ, which is great for me because I’m obsessed with A-spot stimulation. It has the holy duality of oh-fuck-yes A-spot power: long enough to reach the spot (6.5" insertable) and soft enough to avoid upsetting my cervix when inserted all the way.

This is actually the first toy that’s caused me to notice the hyper-lubricating effect described by the A-spot’s discoverer, Dr. Chua Chee Ann: the Pack ‘n’ Play #1 always seems to be dripping with lady-come when I’m done using it. (Uh, is that TMI?) Sometimes I look at it and I’m like, “What the fuck?!” but I guess that means the toy is doing its job.

Initial insertion is always a bit painful with this toy. Its widest diameter is 1.75" and that happens fairly soon in the insertion process, right where the head meets the shaft. Tiny-vagina’ed folks, beware!

However, that swollen head, once inserted, presses super-snugly against my G-spot, so it’s worth the small amount of pain involved.

The toy’s base is chunky and easy to grab onto and thrust with. I have done some seriously speedy thrusting while using this bad boy, because that’s the kind of action my A-spot craves when I’m getting close to coming, and it has yet to slip out of my grasp at any point. Yay.

If you are intrigued by the shape of this toy but you want something firmer, the Vamp is just about identical except that it’s made of straight-up silicone, not dual-density, and is a paler color (because it’s meant to be a vampire dick, duh). The Vamp I have is older, so it has a shorter and narrower shaft than the Pack ‘n’ Play, but it’s since been updated, so if you order a Vamp now, it’ll be the exact same size and shape as the toy I’m reviewing.

One issue with dual-density silicone that kind of sucks: the bottom of the base inexplicably starts to dome outward after some time. (I’m using the word “inexplicable” because that’s how it feels to me, although I’m sure there is some sciencey explanation for it.) This means that my Pack ‘n’ Play acts like a bobblehead: if I nudge it while it’s standing up, it sways back and forth but doesn’t quite fall over. If my other dual-density dildos are any indication, this problem will get worse as time goes on, until eventually the dildo can’t stand up on its own at all. That won’t matter to most folks, though.

My A-spot is smitten with the Pack ‘n’ Play #1, even though it doesn’t perform very well as a packer and doesn’t do much for any other part of my vagina. Ah well; sometimes you fall in love with a toy for one very specific usage and turn a blind eye to its other issues. For the average consumer, though, I’d recommend the Tsunami instead: despite its strange appearance, it’s actually a far more versatile toy than the Pack ‘n’ Play.

Thank you so much to Tantus for sending me this toy!