Any Toy Can Be a “Couples’ Toy”

Kate Sloan

Psst. Come closer. Let me let you in on a secret.

There is no such thing as a “couples’ toy.”

Or rather… there is no such thing as a toy that is only for couples. On the flipside of that, there’s really no toy you can’t use in a coupled situation – even if your partner’s only involvement is coolly watching you from a chair across the room.

I think a lot of this “solo vs. couples’ toys” debate is borne from stigma. I’m largely insulated from this in my own life, since I mostly date and fuck people who already know I’m an Internet Sex Person and thus assume – reasonably and accurately so – that sex with me will involve toys. But for many people, bringing sex toys to the figurative table isn’t just unexpected – it’s actively shamed and frowned upon. I frequently hear from women who want to use a vibrator during sex but are worried about how their boyfriend will feel, men who keep their Fleshlight a secret lest their girlfriend freak out at the sight of it, and so on. It’s quite a sad state of affairs!

What I wish I could tell these people – and usually do – is this: a sex toy is just a tool. It’s not a stand-in for a human, and even if it were, it wouldn’t be a very good one! Just as you might make your partner come with your hands or your mouth or your genitals, you can also potentially make them come with a sex toy. That doesn’t make those orgasms less real, or your role in them any less legitimate. It just makes you an open-minded, considerate lover who cares about your partner’s pleasure.

And it can be so much fun! I’ve had many a partner pound me with the Njoy Pure Wand until I screamed, squirted, or both. It’s a perfect example of a fun toy to use with a partner, because it feels significantly different from anything factory-installed on human bodies (I mean, unless your dick is made of stainless steel, in which case, kudos) and it works best when used to target the G-spot with consistent precision – something I’m not always capable of, myself, when I’m in the throes, but that a focused partner can do without much trouble.

Likewise, though the Magic Wand is often considered a solo toy because it’s supposedly too intimidatingly bulky to use with a partner, it’s actually one of my favorite toys to use during sex. Its broad head is easy for a partner to press against my bits even if they don’t know the exact right spot on my clit to aim for, and because I’ve used it so often during masturbation, my body is used to responding to its specific frequencies, making it easier for me to get off with partners. I’ve done too many fabulous forced-orgasm scenes to ever believe again that wand vibes are only for solo use!

One of the most contentious toys for couples to use together is a realistic dildo – any dildo, really, but particularly ones that look like dicks. I’ve known men who were threatened by them, and women who found them upsetting, for example. While it’s obviously fine to exclude a toy from your play if you dislike it, I think a lot of people don’t realize just how much pleasure you can get from fucking your partner (or being fucked) with a silicone dick. As I said, it’s just a tool for giving penetrative pleasure, so it doesn’t make any kind of statement about your cock (or lack thereof). A cis male partner of mine used to fuck me with a strap-on dildo that was smaller than his own cock, just to mix things up from time to time. I found it amazing – and still do, frankly – that a boy in his early twenties could already be so sexually enlightened!

There are people – myself sometimes included – who actually can’t get off during partnered sex without the help of toys. This doesn’t mean they’re broken or weird; it might just be how their brain or anatomy is wired. Frankly I think it’s sad that some people would rather cling to their precarious pride than help a partner experience pleasure. While it might be an adjustment if your new sweetheart needs a vibe, butt plug, specific lube, etc. to get their rocks off, it’s really not that unusual, and I promise you will have better sex if you can learn to be supportive rather than scared!

Which toys are your favorites to use with partners?

 

This post was sponsored by the lovely folks at Betty’s Toy Box! As always, all writing and opinions are my own.

The Best Non-Sexy Uses For Sex Pillows, Vibrators, and More

Kate Sloan

I always feel like a MacGyver-level genius when I repurpose a sex product into something more innocent. It’s like the opposite of a pervertible: what if instead of using your wooden spoon as a spanking implement, you start using a spanking implement as a spoon? (I am kidding. Don’t do this. Although, frankly, it would be a Move.)

Since I’ve been an adult-industry professional for nearly seven years now, my home is full of weird sex stuff. I figure I may as well use it in as many ways as possible!

Sex Pillows

As this website demonstrates, there are zillions of sexual positioning aids on the market. I have several, and I must admit, they don’t get used nearly as often during sex as they do in my non-sexy day-to-day.

Most commonly, I’ll use Liberator shapes as impromptu laptop stands, for when I want to watch Netflix (or, yes, porn) while lying in bed. True, I could set my computer on my IKEA lap desk, which is actually designed for such things and probably causes less overheating than a Liberator product, but it just doesn’t have the right shape to angle my screen the way I prefer when I’m loungin’ in my bed.

Sex pillows also make great regular-ass pillows for bed-centric activities that call for angled back support, like reading, writing, or eating. (If you’ve never eaten in bed, CONGRATS, you’re more virtuous than me and I am a gross monster who sleeps on crumbs!) I rely on my Liberator shapes a lot for this function when I’m sick or depressed and my daily tasks have to get done from bed if they’re gonna get done at all. Pro tip: stack a couple of regular pillows on top of the sex pillow for cushioning, since those things tend to be pretty firm.

Finally, I’ve been using sex pillows for joint support more and more over the past couple years, as my chronic joint pain has gotten steadily worse. On really bad pain days, sometimes a Liberator Wedge under my knees or a Jaz under one ankle is just the thing to ease those twinges enough that I can sleep.

Vibrators

Just about everyone knows you can use vibrators to massage your muscles (or someone else’s). It’s what the famous Magic Wand was originally created for, after all. Whether you’re applying a vibe in deliberate, anatomy-savvy ways to relieve tension, or taking the languid route and just lying on top of your buzzing wand after a long, achy day (BEEN THERE), vibration can be a lovely tool in your self-care toolbox, both inside and outside the sexual arena.

I’ve also been known to use vibes as an anti-congestant: running a strong, rumbly vibrator over your sinuses can sometimes shake loose all that soul-crushing snot.

Along similar lines: some voice coaches recommend incorporating vibrators into your vocal warm-up! It’s thought that vibration helps relax your throat muscles, leading to a fuller, clearer sound and a lower likelihood of fatiguing your cords. Start slow and be gentle, of course – your throat is delicate!

Dildos

Does it sound like a joke if I say I use dildos as paperweights? God, I’m like a caricature of myself, aren’t I… It’s just that sometimes I like to work with the windows open, and then it gets windy, and then all my sex toy spec sheets and hastily-scribbled mid-masturbation notes fly everywhere, which isn’t exactly a productivity-booster. Better to set a dildo on top and avoid that whole mess, n’est-ce pas?

A good heavy dildo made of a firm material – like anything by Njoy, and some of my heftier Fucking Sculptures stuff – can be an excellent massage tool. Sometimes a smooth piece of steel can knead out a knot of tension better than human hands alone. (Obviously, please know your shit if you are going to be messing around with anyone’s spine, including your own.)

Once in a while, I also have occasion to use a dildo in lieu of a rolling pin, pestle, or bludgeon – like when I need to grind some weed and don’t have a grinder on hand, or when I need to “whack” a chocolate orange before opening it and don’t just want to smash it against a wall like some kind of ogre (it’s much more ladylike to bang one’s chocolate with a dildo, don’tcha know!).

If your dildo has a decent suction cup base, you can also affix it to the wall and use it to hang your coat, display your necklaces, and so on. It’s a bold decor choice, to say the least, but I think you can pull it off. (I don’t mean pull it off the wall. That shit’s tricky.)

Lube

Couldn’t possibly write about this subject without addressing LUBE!

The silicone-based kind can be used to grease squeaky doors/wheels/etc., smooth down flyaways, and fix stubborn zippers. I have also found that dabbing a little on the inside of each thigh can help a lot with the dreaded “chub rub,” come summertime.

Body-safe oil-based lubes like The Butters often work well as lip balm, makeup remover, massage oil, and shaving cream. (You could use silicone lube instead for those last two functions, but it’s much more expensive than natural oil-based lubes tend to be, so I wouldn’t recommend it, unless you’re Scrooge McDuck-level rich.)

Naturally, many types of lube work well for not-explicitly-sexual insertions. (KY Jelly and Surgilube are two popular medical lubricants, which can also be used in sexy contexts.) If you’re having a tough time with your menstrual cup, tampon, enema, vaginal dilator, or whatever, try lubing it up.

Finally, here’s a weird one my friend Bex told me about: if you turn on your phone’s flashlight, set it down on your nightstand so the light is shining upward, and then put a clear bottle of lube on top, it turns into a sort of makeshift lamp. I can picture the ad campaign now: Mood lighting by Sliquid…

 

What are your favorite non-sexual uses of sex products?

 

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

Sex Sells, Part 3: Being a Sugar Baby

Kate Sloan

This week’s mini blog series on my sex work experiences is coming to an end. For this instalment, I’ve partnered with Rachaels London Escorts to tell you a story I’ve never really opened up about in detail before: that time I was a sugar baby for a little while.

I used to dream of having a sugar daddy who would buy me lingerie and handbags and luxury sex toys. I mean, who hasn’t had some version of this fantasy at one time or another? Though I played around on SeekingArrangement (the best-known “sugar dating” site) and mentally mapped out how I’d spend a generous benefactor’s money, I didn’t think I’d ever actually have a sugar daddy; men with the means and desire for this type of relationship are usually inundated with fit blonde conventional beauties in their early twenties, and I am… none of those things, so it seemed like a long shot.

However, one day in 2017, I got a cordial email from a man whose name I didn’t recognize. He introduced himself, heaped on compliments about my blog and podcast, and asked if I’d be open to a (paid) phone-chat session with him sometime, as the phone “happened to be a favorite play medium” of his. He attached two photos of himself, serious black-and-white formal portraits in which he smouldered at the camera in a suit. I was intrigued.

I was used to charging in 15- or 30-minute increments for such services, so I was surprised when he wanted to book a whole hour. “Please let me know how to render the honorarium and I’ll handle immediately in good faith,” he wrote – music to the ears of someone who so often has to harangue potential clients to finally, reluctantly pay. We agreed on a price and a day and time, and he sent the money promptly, in advance. What a dream.

He opened our first phone call by telling me he planned to approach it as a “first date” of sorts – i.e. he wanted us to chat and get to know each other, hopefully as part of an ongoing connection, not just a one-off phone-sex encounter. That first night, chatting is all we did: he complimented me and my work profusely, told me about his career and interests, and explained his own journey with non-monogamy and kink, which had led him to me. He had a wife, but they both dated and fucked other people with each other’s full knowledge; he, however, preferred to pay dates rather than seek them out organically for free, because he said it simplified the process. He was a highly busy small-business owner and didn’t have the spare time and energy to trawl Tinder or OkCupid, besides which, those sites rarely connected him with the open-minded, kinky, smart women he was seeking. Hence paying me by the hour for a phone date.

We enjoyed our conversation so much that when the hour was up, he asked if I had time to stay for another – with proper compensation, of course. When I said yes, the amount landed in my account almost immediately, and we carried on chatting about our lives. I was amazed that I’d just made the equivalent of 20-30 hours of minimum-wage work for a two-hour phone call that hadn’t even felt like work. He was eloquent and charming and I’d enjoyed our chat. I’d basically been paid to be complimented and flirted with for an evening. Pretty ideal.

I took myself out for a fancy solo dinner the next night, spending some of his money on pasta and cocktails I worked my way through while leisurely reading a book. The decadence made me feel guilty. This wasn’t my life. But maybe it could be.

We continued having these get-to-know-ya phone chats on and off for a few weeks. I learned that he lived in New York, that he had followed me and my work for quite some time, and that some soul-searching on the topic of kink had brought him to the realization that he was a daddy dom. That role spoke to him because he liked guiding the action of scenes and having consensual control over sexual partners, sure, but also because he longed to give guidance, structure, and wisdom outside of the bedroom. I warned him that I wasn’t comfortable calling anyone “daddy” just yet, having recently had my heart broken by my first daddy dom, but I could open myself up to a new dom by another name, perhaps.

We had phone sex for the first time late one night, once he’d established I wanted it, and had (of course) paid for my time. It was long and slow and lovely. I felt guilty taking my time to come as I listened to him spin sentences about giving my clit and labia lots of attention, but he assured me repeatedly that he liked the arousal process, he liked listening to me getting closer and closer to orgasm, and he intended to pay me for any extra time we spent because he wanted to hear me come. He was true to his word.

Sometime after that, he floated an idea he’d been pondering this entire time but hadn’t felt brave enough to bring up yet. He wanted to work out an “arrangement”: he would pay me an agreed-upon monthly allowance so we could talk and text and email organically as our schedules allowed, in lieu of paying by the hour to talk only at certain times. He offered, too, to cover my airfare for all trips I took to and from New York while we were “a thing,” even if I only saw him once during the entire trip. This especially excited me, as my best friend lives there and so did a new person I was flirting with and potentially wanted to date. I’d been wishing I could afford more NYC trips, and now here was a person offering to fly me there once every month or two. How perfect!

The arrangement began; the money flowed in. I bought a Coach handbag and a microwave. I stared at my bank balance sometimes, half-bewildered, half-turned on. I felt better about my financial situation than I have ever felt in my life.

We started planning our first in-person date, slated for mid-December. Pasta, musical theatre, a night in a hotel. I mentioned casually in passing that I’d also be seeing my new beau while there, and I heard my sugar daddy’s voice waver a bit. He told me that, despite having been non-monogamous for years, he still struggled with jealousy occasionally – and this situation triggered it especially, because the other person was “right in [his] own back yard.” I was confused, because he’d known going into this that I had other partners, but I told him I was sure he could work through those feelings and that I could provide some poly-newbie resources if need be.

However, just 10 days before I was scheduled to fly down to see him, he called me and confessed that his jealousy had gotten the better of him. He wanted to “bow out” of our arrangement. He’d thought he could handle me dating another New Yorker, but he couldn’t. I was disappointed – not just because of the money, and not just because it was another rejection in a year that had been full of rejections for me, but also because I had grown genuinely fond of this man. Hearing his supportive voice over the phone had become a comfortingly dependable tradition, and I was sad to lose that. I went over to another partner’s house later that day for a scheduled date and he held me and consoled me and got me high and fucked me well. (Good poly is so good.)

I’m still sad from time to time about the loss of that arrangement. It fulfilled so many of my core desires: to be cared for, and appreciated, and listened to, and pleasured, and spoiled. It topped up my bank account while also topping up my self-worth and my sense of being supported by someone who wanted the best for me.

But there is also joy to be found in making my own money, treating myself to nice things when I can, and developing relationships with people who aren’t threatened by my other potential paramours. I like having people I can depend on, and I also like feeling independent to some extent. This foray into sugar dating taught me more about my ideal balance in between.

 

Thanks to Rachaels London Escorts for sponsoring this post! They’re open from 10AM to 1AM (amazing!) and are available for a range of booking opportunities, such as dates, massages, parties, and naughty nights in hotels.

Sex Sells, Part 2: Camming

Kate Sloan

I log onto Skype. I send a quick “I’m ready when you are!” message to the stranger who paid me a few minutes ago. They call me up, and I put on my best Flirty Face. Maybe my clothes come off; maybe not. Maybe I have an orgasm; maybe not. By the end of the 15- or 30-minute show, my face is flushed – from nerves or pleasure or both – and I’m marginally richer than I was before.

When I partnered with Bubbles London Escorts to create this blog series on my experiences with sex work, I knew I’d have to touch on camming. And truth be told, I was reluctant. I don’t think of myself as a camgirl, not really; I don’t put in the hours upon hours of self-promotion and primping and flirting with silent time-wasters that people who cam for a living have to do. Folks occasionally ask me for advice on “getting into” camming, and I always bashfully tell them: I don’t use cam sites or seek out customers. They come to me, via DM or email, because they’ve enjoyed something I tweeted or read something I wrote or fixated on a selfie I Instagrammed, and they – inexplicably, to my mind – want to see me get lascivious just for them. I like money, and I like feeling desired, so when the opportunity arises, I often say yes.

I don’t cam very often – usually just a handful of times a year. It’s not something I seek out or advertise all that much, because honestly, it makes me anxious as hell. The process of scheduling a show, attiring myself appealingly, and then performing on camera directly conflicts with my insecurities and awkwardness and shyness. It requires a certain brassy confidence that I can convincingly fake for the duration of a show, maybe, on a good day. It’s for these reasons that I decided late last year to stop taking on new cam clients unless they seemed really great and made me feel really comfortable. The money I got from putting on these shows just wasn’t enough to justify how nervous and drained they made me feel.

But while I was doing it more actively, I had some regular customers I adored. There was the breezily confident guy who would tell me to “just do whatever feels good,” and would sit back in his chair, smoking a cigar and not jerking off at all, while I held a vibe on my clit and writhed. There was the sweet dork who only ever wanted to watch me give head to a realistic dildo, and then would chat with me about social justice in comic book universes once he’d come. There was the woman in her first queer relationship who wanted to learn more about how vulvas work from watching me touch mine. (Secretly, she was my fave.)

Camming wasn’t all smooth ‘n’ sexy; there were hijinks and misadventures, too. A client once requested a show while I was staying in a hotel in Italy with my mom, so I had to stake out a corner of our marble bathroom during a lull in the day and center my laptop between my splayed legs. Another client once reached out to schedule an impromptu show just as I was stumbling home drunk from a night out with friends, so the show he eventually got was probably more raucous than mine typically are. Adorably, someone once bought a camshow from me as a gift for her boyfriend, who she said would’ve been too shy to set one up himself.

My favorite cam clients were always the ones who treated me respectfully and gently, knowing I’m a human, not an object. They’d politely inquire mid-show, “Is it okay if I…?” or “Would you mind showing me…?” and I’d usually be happy to oblige. Sometimes I’d even get a reverent thank-you message from them the next day. “I learned so much from talking with you and watching you,” one such message read. “It opened up something in me.” I cried a little, finding it hard to wrap my mind around the idea that someone found the sight of me jerking off to be not only sexy but revelatory.

I haven’t cammed in quite a while. These days, I’d mostly rather lie in bed in my pajamas, talking to my partner on the phone or reading a book or watching Netflix, not caring what I look like. But I’m still grateful to the clients I had, and those I might have in the future. Though camming makes me incredibly nervous, it also – like many other daunting activities – leaves me flushed and grinning with the knowledge that I “felt the fear and did it anyway.”

 

Thanks to Bubbles London Escorts for sponsoring this post! The owner of this agency is very friendly and makes sure all client requests are dealt with promptly.

Sex Sells, Part 1: Selling Nudes

Kate Sloan

I’ve always loved good-lookin’ nudes. When I was a young(er) pervy little thing, I would creep to the family computer in the dead of night and surf SuicideGirls, GodsGirls, and archives of old Bettie Page prints – always taking care to clear my browser history afterward, of course. These women, with their lush curves and hard-femme aesthetics, had something I thought I could achieve someday, once I came of age: the confidence to pose nude on the internet.

Especially in light of the recent SESTA/FOSTA laws which are jeopardizing many sex workers’ livelihoods, I was excited when the folks at Dior London Escorts agreed to sponsor a blog series here on my experiences with sex work (the mild forms of it that I have done), so I would have an opportunity to do some destigmatizing through storytelling. I thought immediately of those formative late nights, scrolling through elegant porn. At one point, my desire to join these naked women’s ranks was so great that I shot some provocative (non-nude) photos of myself on my little digital camera and carefully photoshopped the SuicideGirls logo into the corner of one, just to see what it would look like. My mom later found that illicit jpeg on our computer and told me she hoped I was being careful with my images. I still don’t know whether she thought I’d actually somehow been accepted to model for the site despite being underage.

Those early signs of exhibitionism didn’t really bear out in my adult life. I’ve performed in porn from time to time, with friends behind the camera or on camera with me or both, but it was always more for the goofy fun of the experience than for a sexual desire to show off. When I’ve shared lascivious photos online, it’s typically been out of boredom or the need for an ego boost. Even sending nudes to partners doesn’t really get my rocks off in and of itself; I typically don’t do it unless asked to, because it doesn’t often occur to me, and it’s the other person’s desirous reactions that thrill me and make me feel hot.

And yet… I like selling nudes. There is something powerful and sexy about it. Maybe I have a bit of a money kink; maybe it’s just that strangers buying photos of my body makes me feel somehow more “legitimately” hot than when partners enjoy those same photos, because the strangers don’t even know about my charming personality and still want to jerk off to me. Weird but true.

I don’t recall the first time I sold a nude, but I would imagine the interaction originated in a Twitter DM. Maintaining an active Twitter presence full of sex jokes and snazzy selfies, I attract a fair amount of sexually motivated looky-loos. Sometimes random men slide into my DMs with a simple “Hey” and it turns out they want to see me naked; other times they’re upfront about wanting to buy pictures (guess which approach I prefer?!). On the advice of my friend Bex, a gifted salesman, I’ve started answering every vague DM from a stranger with a concise “What can I help you with?” This sets a businessy tone for our conversation and helps me quickly filter out flirty time-wasters so only actual customers remain.

I always ask interested buyers if there’s anything in particular they want to see. If it’s something fairly basic (say, tits or ass – the classics), typically I already have some great shots on tap that I can send along. If they want something more niche or involved, I set aside some time to shoot what they’re looking for. I don’t even necessarily have to be at home to pull this off; I have fond memories of snapping impromptu nudes for clients in bar bathrooms and a boyfriend’s bed (the boyfriend knew what was up!). I feel like a badass every time I make quick cash just taking pictures of my body, a body that feels utterly ordinary to me because I walk around in it all day every day. What a revelation and a joy that some people like this chubby, flawed body enough to pay for digital glimpses of it, even without knowing anything about me.

The only times selling my nudes has gotten awkward were when the buyer was someone I knew. Either I felt guilty about charging them money (even though they were proactively trying to pay me) or the interaction added a sexual element to a relationship that previously lacked that dimension. But in every case, these people have been cordial and respectful throughout the process. I’ve even said “no” to a few of them and gotten nothing but sweet understanding in return.

I’m always happy to sell nudes, so slide into my Twitter DMs or send me an email if you want to buy some. I love that this exchange is a total win-win: my buyer walks away happy (and hopefully jerkin’ it), and in return I get a fistful of cash and the knowledge that someone, somewhere, thinks my body is beautiful.

 

Thanks to Dior London Escorts for sponsoring this post! They’re one of the most popular escort agencies in London, known for their high-quality service and employing a wide range of women.