The Sometimes-Blurry Line Between Content Creators and Fans

Kate Sloan

“Dating a porn star isn’t all roses / She leaves you home on a Saturday night / You can go crazy from thoughts and supposes / And lose the thin thread between what’s wrong and right” -The Weepies, Dating a Porn Star

It seems like every creator of sexual content has a slightly different stance on dating and fucking their fans. I’ve known sex workers and porn stars who found the very idea laughable – but I’ve also known strippers and escorts who got into some of their most loving and healthy relationships with people who were originally their customers.

As for me, the last 3 people I’ve dated (including my current partner) started as “fans” of mine, although to varying degrees. They all followed me on Twitter, had listened to several episodes of my podcast, and had checked out my blog. But I suppose what they all had in common was that as soon as they met me, they seemed to start viewing me as a person, rather than just a Sexy Lady On The Internet. There was a knowledge imbalance between us – they knew way more about me than I knew about them, at first – but it didn’t exactly feel like a power imbalance, because they didn’t put me on some weird pedestal like an object to be worshipped or ogled.

I hesitate to tell stories like this in public, because I worry it might further the notion that dating a porn star you’ve jerked off to, or a dominatrix you’ve done a few sessions with, is a feasible thing to hope for. The thing is, it might be, but the type of person who would seize on this possibility is often the exact kind of person sex workers don’t want to date: boundary-crossing, pedestalizing, fervent fans who mistake skilfully-established rapport for an actual connection. Sex workers – myself included, when I dabble in paid cam shows or dirty chat – often spend tons of time fending off entitled weirdos who don’t think the services we provide are worth paying for, but want them nonetheless. I’m conscious of perpetuating a Pretty Woman-esque myth that might drive even more of these creeps to push service providers’ boundaries and pay them not enough, or nothing at all, for the privilege.

But all of that said, sometimes it seems like dating fans (who later become, of course, more than just fans) is my best recourse, in a world as sex-negative as this one. Bros on Tinder sometimes balk at what I do, either because they’re intimidated by my level of sexual experience and the public nature of my sex life, or because they think sluts are gross… in which case, begone from my life, boys! Those who already follow me on Twitter, etc., on the other hand, already know “my deal” – so we’ve got a good starting point for the classic “Can I write about the sex we just had?” convo that inevitably occurs early in the dating process for me, and I can more-or-less trust they don’t think I’m a disgusting monster for having sucked a few dicks in my time. It’s starting at square three instead of square one – small, maybe, but not nothing. I only want to date people who can support me fully, including in the work I do.

Sometimes this type of relationship goes sour when it turns out that your former-fan-now-partner actually doesn’t support your choice of career. Maybe they think it’s fine for them to communicate with porn creators all they like, but get jealous and possessive when you… continue the work you were doing for years before you met them. Maybe they expect you to give up stripping, escorting, or camming in order to be with them – as though money is just going to materialize from somewhere else because they became threatened by other fans trying to pursue you just like they did. This is always a concern when beginning a courtship with a fan, and I’ve seen it happen many times. While it’s true that healthy relationships often involve compromise and the reshuffling of life priorities, you don’t have to put up with anyone asking you to change your entire career path to spare their feelings. If the main benefit of dating a fan is that they know “your deal” already, it’s odd that those very same people will sometimes turn on a dime and ask you to disavow the entire “deal” that made you capture their attention in the first place.

Like I said, there are no hard and fast rules about how (or whether) this type of relationship can or should work. You can’t know whether a content creator is open to a romantic relationship sans financial compensation unless you ask them. But just asking them isn’t enough – you first have to prove you’re a respectful, interesting person, capable of viewing the object of your affections as more than just an object. That may not even be enough to get them on board with the idea, and that’s absolutely fine – respecting their boundaries is crucial. But I would be remiss to say you should never approach a sexual media-maker with romantic intentions – because some of my most epic love stories have begun when a fan of mine decided they might like to be more than that, and I decided I might like to let them.

 

This post was sponsored by SWAG, the biggest adult dating and video site in Asia. As always, all writing and opinions are my own.

Let’s Normalize Lube in Sexual Media!

Kate Sloan

It comes out of nowhere. I’m never expecting it. Why would I?

A reference to lube? In a mainstream piece of media? Really? Are you sure?

This time, it’s the character Lily on my favorite show of the moment, Netflix’s Sex Education. “I’ll bring the condoms,” she says, while negotiating an upcoming sex-date. “You bring the lube.”

There are a lot of parts of the queer, kinky, asexual-spectrum experience that are not represented accurately, or at all, in media depictions – so I’m not exactly surprised when on-screen sex has little in common with my real-life encounters. But lube seems like such an amazingly basic thing to leave out of fictional sex altogether. It would be like if an entire cinematic universe flat-out refused to acknowledge condoms exist (which, I suppose I should note, the mainstream porn “cinematic universe” often seems to do). It is not only inaccurate to many people’s experience of sex, but also irresponsible – because anyone learning about sex should simultaneously learn about lube.

It should show up in so many movies, books, shows, podcasts, and magazines we’ve consumed by the time we become sexually active that we add it to our carts when we drop by the drugstore to pick up condoms – a no-brainer. Its usage should be one of the standard pieces of advice we give to every teenager in sex ed classes and “the talk.” Doctors should bring it up alongside birth control when counseling soon-to-be-no-longer-virgins.

I argue this, in part, because I myself didn’t discover the wonders of lube until I was about 19. Sure, I’d read about it in the occasional erotica story or informative article, and had heard folks discussing it on the Sex is Fun podcast, but somehow I assumed that someone like me didn’t need to worry about it. I got plenty wet enough on my own, thank you very much.

But then I started reading sex blogs, and I noticed the fervor with which some of my favorite bloggers used lube every single time they masturbated or had sex. I bought a bottle of my own (water-based, IMO the best kind for beginners because of its versatility) and started using it religiously. And it, indeed, changed my life.

With the addition of a good lubricant, bad sex got better, and good sex became amazing. Masturbation was easier, and I did it more often because I no longer had to wait for my body to get all the way turned on before sliding a dildo inside me. It even worked well for external stimulation – I experimented with using it on my clit, labia, and nipples, and found it was far preferable to my previous “lube” of choice, spit. The clouds parted and angels sang upon my genitals.

This has been an overall theme in my process of learning about sex: even though (as a budding sex nerd) I always knew way more about this stuff than my peers did while I was growing up, it’s often been the simplest lessons that took me the longest to learn, and that I had to push myself the hardest to absorb. I was hesitant, for example, to touch my own clit during intercourse even though I knew it would feel good, I was initially scared to give handjobs or blowjobs because I worried being bad at them was a breakup-worthy offence, and somehow I didn’t realize just how much a good lube could improve my sex life until I tried one. Oh well – better late than never.

One of my big takeaways from this experience is that, as I said, we need to incorporate lube into more sex ed curricula and media. It would make people who don’t self-lubricate “enough” feel less broken, and people who have sex involving non-self-lubricating holes (including many queer and trans people) safer and more comfortable. It would go beyond the dry (no pun intended), safety-focused information so often given to teens and would teach them about pleasure – because as far as I’m concerned, additional pleasure is the main benefit of using lube. Maybe that’s why it’s so rarely talked about in comparison to condoms and birth control.

Kudos to Sex Education, not only for mentioning lube several times (including in a memorable scene where our sex-genius heroine Jean advises a young gay boy that water-based lube is the best choice for anal sex), but for mentioning it in the context of pleasure. Sex advice shouldn’t make sex seem scary or intimidating – and I really feel that spreading the good word about lube can go a long way toward diminishing sexual shame and raising the overall global quotient of sexual pleasure.

 

Thanks so much to the lovely folks at Promescent for sponsoring this post! They have a new collection of lubricants out, including a water-based one, a silicone-based one, an organic aloe-based one, and a peppermint-infused arousal gel.

Reviews: Fun Factory Stronic Real + Stronic G

Kate Sloan
The Stronic Real (purple) and Stronic G (blue).

It’s very rare, as a sex toy reviewer, to be able to say that any product is truly unique. The sex toy industry has been around for long enough now that hardly any products bring anything genuinely new to the table – most of them are just improvements on (or attempts to improve) toys that already exist. While that’s a noble goal, sometimes I find myself thirsting for invention rather than just innovation.

Fun Factory really did reinvent the wheel a few years back when they launched their Stronic line of products. These toys actually thrust back and forth using technology I haven’t seen elsewhere. You can get Stronic-style movement in a whole bunch of different shapes now, which is great news because it means more people can enjoy this seemingly magical thrusting!

Recently I was lucky enough to be sent two new(ish) Stronic toys, and I’m gonna review them for you today. They’re both rechargeable, waterproof, made of silicone and plastic, and not anal-safe (due to the lack of a flared base), and both have a wide variety of speeds and patterns, but other than that, they’re pretty different, as you’ll see…

The Stronic Real (sent to me by the lovely folks at Betty’s Toy Box) is, as its name suggests, Fun Factory’s take on a “realistically” shaped toy. But this company isn’t exactly known for realism, so this toy moreso gestures at the idea of a penis than actually depicts one. I don’t mind that – dicks’ coronal ridge and thrusting action are two of my favorite qualities of theirs, and both of those are present here.

The thing you need to know right away about the Stronic Real is that it seems to be the best choice from the Stronic line for those of us who enjoy A-spot stimulation. It’s long enough to hit the spot in question, and has the exact shape that works best for me when I’m trying to reach my A-spot while satisfying the rest of my vagina too: a thick shaft and a tapered tip with a slight upward curve. If I ease the Stronic Real into my vag as far as it’ll go (using lots of lube, because Fun Factory silicone is draaaaggy), and brace the base of it with my hand or a pillow so it doesn’t slip out as it thrusts, it can stay pretty focused on my A-spot so I can pay attention to whatever I’m doing to my clit. (Probably using the Eroscillator on it, let’s be real.)

The Stronic G, by contrast, doesn’t usually even need to be braced against something – because it locks onto my G-spot and basically stays there. This phenomenon sets it apart from other toys in the Stronic line, to a significant enough extent that I could see turning to this one when the chronic pain in my hands is flaring up and I can’t (or don’t want to) hold a penetrative toy.

I’m not known for my squirting the way some other bloggers are, but boy howdy, this toy sure makes me squirt a lot. In my inaugural Stronic G session with my partner, I soaked through their bedsheets so thoroughly that we decided to belatedly put down a towel – which I then promptly soaked through, too. The thrusting feels a lot like a skilled partner fingerbanging you at the high rate of speed that many people find causes squirting. I find that it’s more of a constant trickle, unlike the bigger, more theatrical expulsions prompted by something heftier like the Pure Wand. If you’ve been curious about learning to squirt, the Stronic G might be a revelation for you – but on the flipside, if you find G-spot stimulation overwhelming or unpleasant, you will likely hate this toy. It is a G-spot-focused jackhammer and is, as Epiphora would say, not for the faint of vagina.

Neither the Real nor the G can hit my internal spots with the amount of force, accuracy, and frankly, slowness that I tend to prefer when partners use their fingers on those spots. It’s sort of like the difference between tickling and massage. I can definitely have orgasms with the faster, more surface-level stimulation provided by the Stronic toys – and I have, many times – but they have a different, more frenetic and less profound quality than orgasms I have when my spots are being stimulated more methodically and firmly. (This is why, as I get closer to orgasm, I sometimes ask my partner to switch from fucking me with the Stronic G to using something with more chutzpah, like the Eleven, to finish me off.) However, for toys that are more-or-less hands-free, they do an excellent job replicating the sensation of being fingerbanged. If you like getting fucked fast – or if you tend to thrust your dildos in and out on the quicker side of the spectrum – you’ll likely enjoy these.

Do I think you need both the Stronic Real and the Stronic G in your collection? Certainly not. The latter is best for hardcore G-spot stimulation enthusiasts, while the former is likelier to satisfy those who like A-spot stimulation and/or general vaginal fullness. But I am, admittedly, quite glad to own both. They’re both very damn good at their core competencies – and when you’re craving a Stronic, nothing else will do.

 

Thank you so much to Betty’s Toy Box and Fun Factory, respectively, for sending me these products to try!

How to Do Solo Foreplay

Kate Sloan

Many of my sex educator friends despise the term “foreplay.” The way it’s traditionally used, it refers to any sexual activities that precede intercourse, from kissing to dry-humping to oral sex. This definition is problematic for so many reasons: it leaves out queer and trans people, as well as people who can’t or don’t want to have penetrative sex (for reasons medical, psychological, and otherwise), while devaluing and de-emphasizing sex acts that many people enjoy and find wholly satisfying all on their own. (My sex life, for one, is deeply enriched by self-contained oral sex sessions!) This conception of foreplay also implies that sex is a scripted endeavor that must unfold in a particular order without deviation. Overall, it leaves a lot of people unsatisfied and forgotten.

While many high school teachers forbid their students from using Wikipedia as a source for assignments, I’m a grown-up so I can quote Wiki as much as I like, and their definition of foreplay, being crowd-sourced, is pleasingly inclusive: “Foreplay is a set of emotionally and physically intimate acts between two or more people meant to create sexual arousal and desire for sexual activity. Although foreplay is typically understood as physical sexual activity, nonphysical activities, such as mental or verbal acts, may in some contexts be foreplay. Foreplay can mean different things to different people.” (Emphasis mine.) YES, Wikipedia!! This is the definition I want you to keep in mind as you read this post.

I’m enthralled by foreplay as a concept, particularly since reading Emily Nagoski’s book Come As You Are a few years ago and learning that I have what’s called “responsive desire”: I usually don’t get turned on until sexual stimulation – physical, mental, or ideally both – is already happening. Nagoski posits in her book that women’s desire is likelier to be responsive, while men’s is likelier to arise more spontaneously – though these are, of course, just over-arching trends and not set-in-stone rules. But maybe these tendencies are to blame for the cultural perception that foreplay is something women need and that men could take or leave. Nothing is ever that simple when it comes to sexuality (and where the hell does that narrative leave trans and non-binary people?!).

In any case, today we’re going to talk about solo foreplay, i.e. providing yourself with your own foreplay. The way I see it, there are 3 main reasons a person might like to do this:

  1. As a prelude to masturbation, to make it more pleasurable, decadent, romantic, momentous, etc., rather than just hopping into the action immediately.
  2. As a replacement for foreplay with your partner, perhaps because the foreplay you do with them is unsatisfactory in some way (in which case, I would recommend discussing that with them when you feel able to do so), because you have a limited time window in which to have sex with them (e.g. the 20 minutes between them getting home from work and the two of you having to leave for a family function) and you want to make the most of it, or because you’re feeling submissive and have been commanded (or have offered) to get yourself turned on before your partner arrives, so they can “use you.” 😏
  3. As a supplement to foreplay with your partner, to make the whole sexual encounter more pleasurable and exciting for you.

Whatever your reasons for actively turning yourself on, having the ability to do so can feel highly empowering – especially for people who have been socialized to believe that their arousal is someone else’s job to conjure up. It can be, but it doesn’t have to be, and you’re denying yourself a vast range of wonderful experiences if you depend solely on your partner to get you revved up!

With that in mind, here are some suggestions for ways you can stoke your own fire, so to speak:

Eliminate stressors, as much as possible. Stress has an actual physiological effect on your ability to get aroused, so – while you may not be able to tune out every little thing that’s making you anxious or sad – try to set the stage for a stress-free session of sensuality. I find that even just tidying up my room, putting on some relaxing music, and turning off my phone can help me breathe a sigh of sweet relief.

Fantasize. Let your inner perversions run wild! Recall a sexy memory. Imagine fucking your favorite fictional character. If you’re planning to have sex later, this step could be as simple as vividly picturing (or even sexting about) what you hope will happen. See where your dirty mind takes you!

Watch porn or read erotica. This is my go-to when I just don’t have the focus, energy, or creativity for fantasizing. If you’re nerdy like me, you may even want to start keeping a document or spreadsheet of the links that turn you on the most – whether they’re amateur blowjob clips, hypno erotica, or Brooklyn Nine-Nine fanfiction – so you can return to them whenever you need a reliable libido boost.

Use an arousal gel. These are topical products meant to be applied to the genitals (they are usually designed for clits, but can feel good on penises too!) to encourage bloodflow to the area through the use of mild tingling or warming ingredients. Promescent’s Female Arousal Gel, for instance, contains peppermint, which will certainly get your blood pumping! I find that these make me more sensitive, too, often resulting in longer and stronger orgasms.

Touch yourself, even just non-sexually (although sexual touch is lovely too!). Massage your aching muscles with a wand vibrator. Moisturize your whole body while gently kneading out the knots of tension. Grab a good lube and massage your nipples, the area around your genitals, and your genitals themselves – slowly and methodically, noticing how everything feels.

Try a little pain. This is totally optional, since not everyone finds pain sexy, but it can encourage bloodflow and greater sensitivity, so it’s worth a shot! You can slap, scratch, or pinch your skin, or experiment with nipple clamps, Wartenberg wheels, and other instruments of sadomasochism. Straight-up pleasure is nice, but pain can feel delicious too!

And finally… Don’t put pressure on yourself to get super turned on, or have an orgasm, or look hot while doing it, or anything. The traditional concept of foreplay paints it as a goal-oriented on-ramp, but sometimes it can just be play. If it leads to more, great! If not, great! Solo play is about getting in touch with your own body and your own pleasure, however that manifests for you.

Do you ever do your own foreplay? What are your favorite methods?

 

This post was sponsored by the wonderful folks at Promescent, who recently released a new collection of lubricants as well as a pepperminty arousal gel that I think lots of you would enjoy. As always, all writing and opinions are my own.

The Fine Art of the Romantic Bruise Selfie

Kate Sloan

Content note: this post discusses, and contains photos of, bruising – only the happy, consensual kind, but bruising nonetheless. I encourage you to take care of yourself and skip this one if that’s tough subject matter for you.

 

“Aftercare” in kink is a somewhat nebulous concept, deliberately so: its definition varies from kinkster to kinkster, as do its purpose and scope. I know people for whom aftercare is, by necessity, a lengthy cuddling session filled with kisses and compliments – and I also know people for whom it is “Thanks for the good time; see ya!” followed by street meat and a volley of texts to a friend. It can be whatever you want it to be, as long as it works for everyone involved.

It’s important to remember, too, that aftercare can be an immediately-afterwards thing, or it can be a quite-a-while-afterwards thing, or both. The blissed-out cuddle sesh after a kink scene might satisfy your body and your snuggly neurotransmitters, but your rational brain might want additional aftercare a few days later in the form of, say, a text dissecting what went right and what went wrong. Sometimes those texts contain pictures of bruises.

It’s been said (I think by Jillian Keenan?) that bruises are to kinksters what hickeys are to vanilla people: tangible proof that a particular encounter happened, that someone likes you enough to have marked you in this very romantic and/or erotic way, that you are desired and desirable. Sending “bruise selfies” the day after a scene – like sending “hickey selfies” the day after a makeout session – can convey a flirty message: I like you and I like what we did together.

But bruise pics also serve another, more kink-specific function: they’re a way that a submissive or bottom can communicate more info, post-scene, to their dominant or top. “Even though what you did to me probably would’ve looked scary, dangerous, or even abusive to an uninformed outsider,” these photographic missives seem to say, “I loved it, I’m glad we did it, and I love the results.” Tops are being immensely vulnerable and brave when they communicate their desires and then act on them; sending bruise pictures is one way of showing them that their bravery was well-received and was worth it. This can teach them, over time, that it’s okay to be even more brave, even more often.

“It makes me proud of our time together and I love knowing they’re thinking of me.” -@stryker_von

“When topping, it’s an affirmation that they had a Really Good Time and are still thinking about it. That’s a great feeling! As a bottom, it feels like a little wink to our complicity in a scene – “Look at what we did to my body, together. Isn’t it pretty?” -@tinygorgon

“I sometimes get self-conscious and worry that I have hurt them too much. My other reaction is wow, they endured that much for me and were so wonderful 😍” -@cewa1308

Once you go out into “the real world” with your bruises, you’re apt to encounter all kinds of pushback – family might scoff or stare if they spot the damage, doctors might pry or even assume you’re in an abusive relationship, and your other partners (if you have any) might wonder why you didn’t leave them more real estate on your skin for marks of their own! But in those first, pure moments of mutual bruise enjoyment that ensue when you snap a pic the morning after and send it to the bruise’s creator, you don’t have to feel guilty or self-conscious about the perverted masterpiece that has bloomed on your body – you can just bask in its beauty together.

Taking pictures of your bruises is also a gift to your future self, because – if you’re anything like me – someday you’ll love having a record of your kinky journey over the years. I’m less prone to bruising now than I was in my early twenties, in part because I simply don’t play as hard as I used to, so I love paging through my old bruise shots as a reminder of how strong I am and how much I am capable of enduring. The people who gave me those marks have mostly disappeared from my life, but the memories, and the photographic evidence, remain – allowing me to celebrate my own resilience whenever I revisit them.

I’m insecure and perpetually unsure if I’m actually a “good submissive.” But in those photos, I can see evidence that I am, in stark black and white. (Or black and blue, as the case may be.)

 

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