pain

12 Days of Girly Juice 2021: 8 Brilliant Books

Kate Sloan

At time of writing, I’ve read 44 books this year – yay! Reading has given me so much pleasure during the pandemic, with its ability to sweep me away into worlds that aren’t wracked by quick-spreading illness and quicker-spreading fascism. (Well, sometimes I do read books where those things are happening, but not typically ones set in our world.) It’s been a much-needed respite from the grind of life.

Here are 8 of the books I loved best this year. You can check out the full list of books I read in 2021 here. Would love to hear from you in the comments if you’ve read any of these, or if you have others to recommend!

 

Torrey Peters – Detransition, Baby

She decides for the ten thousandth time that heterosexual cis people, while willfully ignoring it, have staked their whole sexuality on a bet that each other’s genders are real. If only cis heterosexuals would realize that, like trans women, the activity in which they are indulging is a big self-pleasuring lie that has little to do with their actual personhood, they’d be free to indulge in a whole new flexible suite of hot ways to lie to each other.

This book absolutely exploded this year. It became a national bestseller. The New York Times and Entertainment Weekly called it one of the best books of the year. It got longlisted for the Women’s Prize (to the chagrin of transphobic bigots). And the praise is well-deserved, if you ask me.

Trans writer Torrey Peters’ debut novel is a witty, dishy tale of three people with vastly different relationships to womanhood, who ultimately discover their similarities and find some common ground. Reese is a brassy, world-hardened trans woman who desperately yearns to be a mother; Reese’s morose ex Ames was once a trans woman, but has since detransitioned for reasons that become clear later in the book; and Katrina is a no-nonsense cis woman who Ames accidentally gets pregnant, which is the catalyst that kickstarts the events of the story.

It’s a blazingly funny novel about womanhood, motherhood, the absurdity of gender, the mutability of family, and so much more. I loved it.

 

Leigh Cowart – Hurts So Good: The Science & Culture of Pain on Purpose

I have come to think of my experiences with masochism as a kind of biohacking: a way to use the electrochemistry of my body in a deliberate way for the purpose of curating a specific experience. Something about my response to pain is different, be it inborn or learned (or both, I suspect). It’s something that allows me to craft a little pocket of joy for myself, an engineered release, be it through running a few miles uphill, getting a tattoo, or getting slapped in the face for fun until I cry.

I’ve read a fair number of books that explore sadomasochism through various sexual and romantic lenses, but Hurts So Good is a different kind of book. It investigates a much broader range of masochisms, from kinksters getting whipped in dungeons, to ultramarathon runners exhausting their bodies for the fun of it, to competitive hot pepper eaters scorching their mouths to get an endorphin rush. This is a book about “pain on purpose,” in all the various ways humans seek it out.

I’ve been more and more interested in reading about pain since it became an everyday part of my life due to fibromyalgia, and there’s a fair bit of nerdy pain science in here that scratched that itch for me. But it’s also so much deeper than just brain imaging and neurotransmitters: Cowart examines the psychological, social, and even spiritual reasons that humans have pursued pain through the ages. It’s a fascinating read, whether sadomasochism is a part of your sex life or just a topic you find intriguing.

 

Hanne Blank – Straight: The Surprisingly Short History of Heterosexuality

Historically, what heterosexuality “is” has been a synonym for “sexually normal.” Early in the history of the term, it was even used interchangeably with the term “normal-sexual.” And there, as they say, is the rub. “Normal” is not a mode of eternal truth; it’s a way to describe commonness and conformity with expectations. But what is most common and expected, in terms of our sexual lives or any other aspect of the human condition, does not always remain the same. Sexual expectations and behaviors, like all other social expectations and behaviors, change over time.

It’s always good to re-examine the things you think you know, to figure out whether they are actually true. More often than not, you’ll realize you’ve gotten it at least partially wrong all along.

Astute scholar Hanne Blank examines heterosexuality that way in her excellent book Straight. Our current society takes for granted that straightness has always existed, because it is the natural order of the species and a procreative imperative, blah blah blah – but has straightness always existed? Blank argues, quite convincingly, that it is a relatively new construct we created for ourselves, and that sexuality is now and has always been much more fluid and vague than the strict category of “heterosexual” would lead us to believe.

If you’re scoffing as you read this (“How could that possibly be true?! Straightness is real! Science says so!”) then I think you are the type of person who mosts needs to read this book. It is my view that some of our most significant growth as humans happens when we’re able to soften our rigidities, blur the boundaries we’ve drawn, and apply a lens of nuance to the world – and this book is a challenge to do exactly that.

 

Kai Cheng Thom – Fierce Femmes & Notorious Liars

I wanted to protect you, but I’m starting to think that the best thing you can do for people is teach them how to protect themselves. Every girl needs to be at least a little dangerous.

Kai Cheng Thom is a transcendently brilliant writer, whose work I first read in her advice column for Xtra. This book is a bit of a departure from her typical style: it’s a surrealist novel and a “biomythography” of Thom’s life, meaning that it draws elements from her own life story but is vastly more magical and absurd.

It’s the tale of a young trans girl coming out, moving across the country, finding community, and fighting back against the transphobic powers that be. It has a lot to say about how we grow and change as people, the transformative power of good friendships, and the beauty of stepping into your true self.

 

Allison Moon – Getting It: A Guide to Hot, Healthy Hookups & Shame-Free Sex

What makes casual sex casual? What makes sex sex? It’s a fraught subject, raising issues of morality, pleasure, risk, trauma, and choice. My job is not to convince you one way or another, but rather to give you good information to use to make up your own mind. I promise I won’t shame you for your choices, and I hope you don’t shame other people for theirs.

Gift this book to any young person you know who is interested in, or is pursuing, casual sex for the first time. Gift it to your recently divorced friend who hasn’t dated since the pre-Tinder era. Gift it to anyone whose relationship to casual sex seems tricky, confused, or painful. I really think it’ll help.

Everything that sex educator Allison Moon writes is delightful, but this book is really indispensable. It’s a guide to just about everything you need to know to have satisfying and healthy casual sex, from figuring out what you want, to finding dates, to setting boundaries, to navigating consent, to dealing with tricky feelings that come up. It’s a blueprint for the best sex of your life, whether casual or not.

I deeply wish I’d had this book when I was 22; I could have spared myself a lot of bad sex and broken hearts. But at least it’s out in the world now, and can help a whole new generation of sex-positive cuties.

 

Casey McQuiston – One Last Stop

The first time August met Jane, she fell in love with her for a few minutes, and then stepped off the train. That’s the way it happens on the subway—you lock eyes with someone, you imagine a life from one stop to the next, and you go back to your day as if the person you loved in between doesn’t exist anywhere but on that train. As if they never could be anywhere else.

Wanna read a quirky butch/femme romance novel that takes place primarily on a subway train, weaves in true queer history, features time travel as a prominent plot point, depicts rich and realistic queer friendships, and contains countless LOL-worthy jokes? This is the one.

I got somewhat obsessed with Casey McQuiston’s writing this year, devouring this novel and their other one, and starting to read an advance copy of their next one (being a member of the press has its perks sometimes!). Their work is sharp, full of heart, and shot through with a deep reverence for queerness and queer communities. I laughed and cried my way through this novel and almost wish I could erase it from my memory just so I could experience it for the first time again. It’s a beautiful love story for the ages.

 

Aubrey Gordon – What We Don’t Talk About When We Talk About Fat

I describe mine as work for fat justice. Body positivity has shown me that our work for liberation must explicitly name fatness as its battleground—because when we don’t, each of us are likely to fall back on our deep-seated, faulty cultural beliefs about fatness and fat people, claiming to stand for “all bodies” while we implicitly and explicitly exclude the fattest among us. I yearn for more than neutrality, acceptance, and tolerance—all of which strike me as meek pleas to simply stop harming us, rather than asking for help in healing that harm or requesting that each of us unearth and examine our existing biases against fat people.

As a massive fan of Aubrey Gordon’s podcast with Michael Hobbes, Maintenance Phase, I don’t know why it took me so long to get around to reading her book, but I’m very glad I finally did. It’s a thorough skewering of our society’s rampant anti-fat bias and all the various ways it manifests. It’s compelling and impeccably well-researched, and it should be a required text for anyone studying to become a doctor, therapist, social worker, or policymaker.

Fatphobia and diet culture are horrendously potent forces in our world right now, affecting how fat people are treated on both macro and micro levels every day. What this book points out, using evidence collected from a staggering amount of different reputable sources, is that anti-fat bias is largely predicated on the false notion that significant, sustained weight loss is possible for the majority of people. In reality, being fat isn’t all that different from being tall, in terms of how genetics create that condition and what can be done about it – but the discrimination and harassment fat people face is obviously far worse. If you’ve ever fat-shamed anyone for any reason, you should read this. If you’ve ever stayed silent while someone else was being fat-shamed in your presence, you should read this. If you’re feeling resistant to reading this because you disagree with its argument, you should read this.

It’s 2021. There’s no excuse whatsoever for being a bigot anymore, and that includes being a fatphobic bigot.

 

Jeremy O. Harris – Slave Play

For almost a decade I’ve given myself over to someone who doesn’t dignify me who acts like he’s the prize and I’m the lucky recipient. No motherfucker I’m the prize. Always have been, always will be. Somehow I forgot that. Or I never knew that. How could I? Got so wrapped in you so wrapped up in your presentation. That I forgot myself because when someone presents themselves as a prize you receive them as one.

I was lucky enough to see this play twice on Broadway, and also decided to read the script so I could absorb the words more deeply. It is a truly unique piece of theatre.

At the centre of this story is “race play,” an edgy and controversial kink in which racial differences and/or tropes are eroticized. I first learned about this style of play from Mollena Williams-Haas, a submissive Black woman who identifies as a slave in her D/s dynamic with her partner. (She has a new podcast, by the way – it’s amazing.)

Accomplished playwright Jeremy O. Harris (who also produced the terrific virtual theatre put on by Fake Friends during the pandemic) has weaved a story wherein race play becomes an element of a radical new therapy, aimed at helping the Black partners in interracial relationships experience more comfort, pleasure, and safety with their non-Black partners. It’s a raw exploration of race, class, kink, consent, privilege, power, and so much more. In my mind, the primary message of this play is that self-awareness, and awareness of one’s ancestral history, is crucial if we are to move through the world in ethical and progressive ways. This is a deliberately challenging play – the stage directions on the opening pages counsel the director and performers to avoid any attempt to make the audience feel more comfortable with what they are seeing – and it feels very needed at this time in history. I very much look forward to seeing whatever Jeremy O. Harris does next.

5 Useful Insights on Chronic Pain and BDSM

Kate Sloan

I’ve been living with chronic joint pain for about 4 years now – so, roughly as long as I’ve identified as kinky. I wonder often if there’s a correlation there…

Different doctors in different areas of medicine have variously diagnosed me with patellofemoral syndrome, gout, the ever-vague “depression-related pain,” and (newest and so far unconfirmed) fibromyalgia. Whatever my mysterious pain stems from, it seems to be here to stay, and I have to figure out how to live with it. That includes finding ways to keep it from hindering my sex life.

I’ve been doing lots of reading lately on the intersections of chronic pain and BDSM – most notably Raven Kaldera’s excellent anthology Kneeling in Spirit, which is about submissives with disabilities. Between that book, Ignixia’s workshop on pain and kink at last year’s Woodhull Sexual Freedom Summit, and my own firsthand experiences, I’ve pulled together this list of insights you might find useful if you’re a kinkster who suffers from chronic pain, or if you play with people who do.

A pain scale is an invaluable communication tool.

I often advocate a 1-to-10 pain scale for use during any sadomasochistic scene, because it makes it easy for the bottom to communicate how much pain they’re currently feeling and/or how much pain they’d like to be feeling. But this scale isn’t just for paddle smacks and nipple pinches – you can use it to quantify your regular ol’ chronic pain, too.

I can say, for example, that my elbows are at a 5 right now, while my hands and ankles are at a 3 – and this might affect what my dominant chooses to have me do. If a particular activity mid-scene causes a sudden flare-up, it’s easier for me to spit out “My knees are at an 8” than it would be to construct a request for mercy in my subspacey haze.

As kinksters, we already have language for discussing and measuring pain; we might as well use it in positive ways outside of the dungeon, too.

Some chronic pain can be eroticized.

Please don’t assume this is true of everyone, or every type of pain – I know people who developed chronic conditions and immediately gave up all sadomasochistic activities, because they were experiencing enough discomfort in their regular lives and didn’t want to bring it into their sex lives, too, if they could help it. But for me, some of my joint pain can be made into a sexy thing if my partner and I recontextualize it together.

For example, while it’s agonizing for me to kneel for more than a few minutes due to my shitty knees, I can often get through it if I know my dominant wants me to and I would please him by sticking it out. I’ve knelt for long periods during human furniture scenes, bootblacking scenes, and oral service scenes, and while I can’t sustain that position for as long as a spryer submissive could, I’m able to enjoy my pain more when I feel like it has a purpose (i.e. making my partner happy).

Along similar lines, being taken care of when my pain is especially bad can be sexy in and of itself for me, because I’m into nurturing D/s dynamics. There are lots of ways to reframe pain into a hotter thing than it is on its own.

Communication protocols can set both partners at ease.

The dominants in Kneeling in Spirit emphasize again and again that they need their submissives to be honest with them about their bodies’ current status. This is difficult for me in more vanilla relationships – I feel like I am whining or bumming my partner out – but in D/s, it can be redefined as a mandated part of your dynamic. A dominant can, for example, require their submissive to text them a report on their current pain levels at the start or end of every day, or can choose a particular word or phrase that means, “Tell me how your body feels right now.” A couple could agree on an emoji code (e.g. black dot for “okay,” red dot for “bad,” double exclamation points for “too bad to do kink tonight”) or could share an online calendar where the submissive has to record certain health information daily. You get the idea.

If you’re a submissive and you have trouble communicating this stuff without feeling guilty or whiny, just remember that part of how you serve your dominant is by taking care of the things they love – and that includes you. Keep in mind Mollena Williams-Haas’ “prime directive” for submissives: “It is the primary responsibility of the slave to protect the master’s property at all times, up to and including protecting the property from their master.”

A variety of pain produces a better endorphin rush.

That is to say: if someone already has an achy back, maybe flogging their back isn’t the best way to go. Or, if their pain manifests as surface-level skin irritation, maybe they don’t want to be scratched or slapped, but would instead prefer a deeper, thuddier sensation.

When a body gets accustomed to a certain type of pain, it can stop sending out endorphins in response to that pain – so it might take a different type of pain altogether to get those endorphins flowing again. Consider what tools you have at your disposal that could achieve that.

Pain can be an opportunity for creativity, rather than a limitation.

I once had a friend-with-benefits with whom the “benefits” were primarily rope bondage, which he loved (so do I). He told me once that I’m very fun to tie up, and I scoffed. “You have to be joking,” I said. “My joints are so bad that there are tons of ties you can never do with me.”

He furrowed his brow. “That’s exactly why you’re a fun rope bottom for me,” he replied. “It’s an interesting challenge, figuring out which ties are going to work for your body.”

It had literally never occurred to me to think of my condition that way before. I’m no longer regularly in touch with that dude but his words have stuck with me. I think of them every time I feel like a useless submissive, a broken toy, for being unable to sustain certain positions. Many doms and tops love an opportunity to be crafty and clever – and that includes being in charge of a body that works a little differently than most.

 

Is chronic pain a part of your sex life? How do you like to deal with it?

Do I Want Kids? Part 2: Birth & Bodies

Kate Sloan

I’ve had the nightmare dozens of times: I’m in a fluorescently-lit room at the hospital, legs in stirrups, and everyone is yelling at me. Doctors, nurses, my assumed co-parent (though, better get a paternity test, girl, ’cause let’s hope your baby isn’t faceless and amorphic like this dude is). They all want me to PUSH, but what they don’t understand is that I am trying! My muscles barely obey me, and I slump and cry and try to do what I am told. And then, inevitably, I wake up – before I even get to see my baby.

What this recurrent dream shows me is that I’m terrified of giving birth. I think it’s hard not to feel this way if you have a vagina and a uterus, and maybe even if you don’t. The process is depicted in the media as one of the most physically painful experiences you’ll ever endure: I’ve seen soon-to-be-mothers in movies and TV shows screaming at their husbands, weeping in agony, praying for relief from gods they barely believe in. The pain scares me, yes, but in almost equal measure, I’m scared of who that pain could make me become.

There’s also the horror stories you hear about birth’s effect on the body. Parts can rip and swell and puncture and pop. You can pass out, bleed out, or shit yourself on the birthing bed. Having been relatively healthy for most of my life, I haven’t seen my body stretched to its extremes – and I’m not sure I want to. Why can cis fathers confirm their biological parenthood with a simple home paternity test while I have to endure hours of body- and soul-transforming labor to be eligible for mine?

It doesn’t help that my mom has told me all my life about how painful it was to give birth to me, since her epidural didn’t kick in quite right. But then, she does also say that giving birth to my little brother was comparatively painless, so maybe medical advances will be such by the time I’m pushin’ out a baby that I won’t have to break my brain with pain.

On the plus side, I am well accustomed to processing pain. Being a submissive masochist, I’ve written articles and done interviews on cognitive strategies for dealing with pain, and I struggle with chronic pain on a regular basis – so I’m better equipped than the average person for handling an excruciating situation.

I’ve also long been curious about vaginal fisting as a potential birth training activity during pregnancy, ever since I heard it discussed on some sex podcast long ago. Equivalent to the perineal massage recommended by many obstetricians, but a whole lot more intense, fisting could be a worthwhile practice for helping vaginal muscles learn to relax, stretch, and open up. Assuming the person fisting me would also be present at the birth (which may not be a fair assumption, what with my polyamorous sluttiness, but let’s pretend), they could even use similar communication strategies on The Big Day as they used in our fist-heavy “practice sessions” to guide me through the sensations. I am a big advocate for the idea that practicing difficult tasks makes them easier, and since you can’t exactly practice giving birth before it actually happens, fisting might be the next best thing.

The birth process seems less scary when I think of it that way: as an intense series of sensations, a rigorous task I’m putting my body through, not unlike a kink scene or a sexual feat. And if it seems weird to you to compare “the miracle of life” to a sex act, I would invite you to read Your Child’s Right to Sex, watch Orgasmic Birth, and remember that babies mostly occur because of sex!

Speaking of orgasmic birth… I am definitely the type of person to bring a Magic Wand vibrator to the hospital on that fateful day, assuming I had enough presence of mind to remember it at the time. (Let’s face it, that might be a job for my dutiful co-parent, whoever they may be.) Hey, if huge things are gonna be moving through my vagina, I want some clitoral vibrations to at least soften the blow! Sex educator Susie Bright famously used her wand to lessen discomfort during the birth of her first child. “I had no thought of climaxing,” she wrote in a 2006 blog post, “but the pleasure of the rhythm on my clit was like sweet icing on top of the deep, thick contractions in my womb.”

So, do I want to give birth? Part of me remains aghast at the thought. But another, bigger part of me is curious – curious how my pain tolerance would hold up, curious about what those “deep, thick contractions” feel like, curious about the extent to which pleasure can mitigate that level of pain. Pregnancy and birth are two magical things my body can (presumably) do that I haven’t yet experienced, and I’m always curious about bodily states I have yet to achieve. Maybe one day I’ll be swearing and sweating in a delivery room, cursing the day I ever claimed to want this – but if common accounts of the post-birth experience are true, the memory of that pain will soon melt away in favor of oxytocin bliss, endorphin nirvana, and the joy of meeting the new little person I’ve just brought into the world.

 

Thanks to TestMeDNA for sponsoring this series! Browse their website for answers to big questions like “What does a paternity test cost?” and “What the hell is a buccal swab?”

Review: Steel Dragon Claw

Kate Sloan

I’ve been a sex toy reviewer for nearly seven years, and toys can still surprise me sometimes.

I asked Honour to send me their steel dragon claw, solely because… I didn’t have anything like it. It’s not that I particularly thought I would love it, or use it a lot – I just wanted to try something new. And I’m glad I did, because this toy is deceptively delightful.

My partner and I have taken to calling this toy “the weird scratchy thing,” and that about sums it up. It’s a five-fingered metal claw designed for sensation play. The talons aren’t sharp enough to break skin, but depending on how much pressure you apply, they can leave pale scratches or thin red welts. After my partner attacked my arms and thighs with the dragon claw in one particularly voracious scene, I even noticed what appeared to be bruises in the shape of scratches: long bluish-purple lines crisscrossing my skin for a day or two afterward. I am the type of kinkster who relishes finding new ways to be marked, so this thrilled me to my core.

Of course, being metal, this toy lends itself well to temperature play, if you’re into that. Being scratched by cold talons is a cool sensation, and the shaft and handle of the toy could also feel delicious on the skin if pre-cooled in cold (not too cold!) water. You could also heat the toy up for even more sensory possibilities.

This toy isn’t just good for scratching, though. The thick, rounded handle makes a pretty hefty little impact toy (so long as you can hang onto the other end comfortably enough), as does the back of the dragon’s “hand.” I can’t speak to the body-safety of this metal for internal use, but I would imagine the handle could feel good inserted vaginally or anally, if you’re into that. (I’d rather just use a dildo, though.)

I find it oddly charming that the dragon claw comes in its own elegant black case, with a foam cutout to place it in and a little clasp to close the box. I don’t know how practical this storage option is – it takes up a lot of extra room in, say, a suitcase or play bag, and this isn’t an especially delicate toy the likes of which might actually need its own case – but it’s a nice touch nonetheless. Toys that come with their own storage like this are especially good for gifting, so if a kinkster in your life is into sensation play and appreciates the unusual, the steel dragon claw could make a nice present for them. Throw in a blindfold and some under-the-bed restraints and you can give them an entire scene, ready to go.

At £23.99 (about $31 USD or $41 CAD), this claw is a not-super-expensive kinky treat that I think a lot of people would enjoy. I certainly like it more than I expected to. Whether you use it to dish out some light scratches or some serious pain, it feels lovely and looks great. I’m glad I kept an open mind and gave this one a shot.

 

Thanks to Honour for sending me this product to try! They have a ton of other kinky products and apparel you should check out.

Review: Neon Wand

Kate Sloan

How to describe the sensation of electrostimulation? It’s like a hot tattoo needle pummelling your skin. It’s like a highly concentrated, strobing sunburn. It’s like the snap of a razor-sharp, sun-heated whip.

It’s like trust, like vulnerability, like catharsis. It’s like letting your partner usurp your will. It’s like floating in a subspacey haze, vaguely wondering from afar how long this has been going on and how long it will go on. It’s like that.

But let me back up. First we need to talk about the Neon Wand.

The sweethearts at SheVibe were kind enough to send me a KinkLab Neon Wand electrosex kit after I wrote, in January, about wanting to try E-stim. I opened the box reverently when it arrived, and carefully turned over each piece in my hands: the rubber-handled base unit, the four sturdy-feeling glass attachments, the AC cable, and the little booklet of instructions. The toy looked like something from a science lab, and though it stirred my recurrent medical-play fantasies immediately, it took me weeks to work up the courage to actually try it.

When I did finally affix one of the Wand’s attachments to its base and plug it in, I went easy on myself. I barely turned the dial up, and held the glass close to my inner forearm to test the sensation. Jagged red light shot out the tip and seemed to singe my skin, though it left no marks. The pain, mild enough to barely register, was nonetheless unlike anything I’d ever felt before – except the hot sharpness of a tattoo needle.

I’m glad I tried the Neon Wand on my own first, to get a sense for it, but it became clear that wouldn’t be enough for me. Like most types of kinky pain, I like electrostim best when exploring it with a partner. Alone, I just won’t press myself to the painful edges a dominant will. And – vitally – it’s difficult, if not impossible, for me to access subspace without someone there to push me into it.

Subspace, if you’re unaware, is the psychological state often cited by submissives, bottoms, and masochists as a key motivating factor in their pursual of these activities. Athletes chase a “runner’s high,” artists flourish “in the zone,” and submissives hunger for subspace. There’s some evidence that all these states are psychologically and physiologically similar – along with topspace, trance, and “flow.” For me, subspace is euphoric, like being pleasantly high; mind-emptying, like a hypnotic daze; disinhibiting, like a midnight wine buzz. In the right context and with the right type of dom, subspace can feel to me like the safest place in the world – because I have no decisions to make and nothing really to fear, knowing my partner will take care of everything.

The first time I used my Neon Wand with a partner, I think we expected a high-energy power-play scene, but what actually emerged was a slow, blissful exploration of subspace. My boyfriend cuffed me to my bed using my Sportsheets restraints, so I couldn’t move; all I could do was watch him. And watch, I did, as he first read the Neon Wand’s instructions and then began setting it up. This entire process took probably five minutes, but the wait felt interminable, because I wanted this cute and conscientious nerd to start zapping me already.

But first, he tested it on himself. I watched him hold the glass-tipped Wand to his arm, pausing in between each contact to adjust the dial on the bottom. I would highly recommend the top in an electrosex scene test their toy on themselves like this, especially if either partner is inexperienced with E-stim; you need to know what you are doling out in order to do so safely. And the person you’ll be zapping will also benefit from watching you do this, as I did that day. Trusting a top – knowing that they understand what they are doing, the intensity of it, the gravity of it – is a crucial component of the recipe for subspace.

Once my boyfriend knew his way around the Neon Wand, he began using it on me. He grazed it across my arms, my thighs, my belly. He touched upon known erogenous zones of mine: my nipples, my upper trapezius, my heart tattoo. He kept the intensity level low enough, at first, that I barely flinched. And then he began to increase it, muttering all the while his usual monologue of “You like that, babygirl? You want more? Can you take a little more for me? I need you to take a little more for me, baby…”

Endorphins kicked in, as they’re wont to do in sadomasochistic kink scenes. The pain got objectively worse but felt subjectively better. My yelps of pain melted into purrs of pleasure. I floated away to that place where subs go. I no longer cared what weird things my face or body might do. I was blank, buzzy, buoyant in my own brain.

Imagine if you could extend the length of an orgasm almost indefinitely, in a way that was fun and easy for both partners. Subspace, in a power-exchange relationship, can be like that. The deeper I fell into subspace, the more my boyfriend enjoyed pushing me down into it. The louder my gasps and shrieks got, the harder he tried to pull them from me. The higher he cranked the dial on the Neon Wand, the higher I felt on neurotransmitters trying to separate me from my pain. We luxuriated in this interaction for… I have no idea how long. One of the key characteristics of subspace is time dilation. Topspace, too. Time means nothing.

Some kink activities induce an altered state as a means to an end – like spanking someone to get them wet and ready for a fuck. But some kink activities induce an altered state for that altered state’s own sake – like hypnotizing someone just because they like the sensation of trance. Electrostimulation can be either or both of these things for me: pain and subspace turn me on, so we can move on to other sexy things once the Neon Wand is unplugged and put away – but I can also enjoy pain-induced subspace on its own merits. It doesn’t have to be sexual; it can be positively meditative. And sometimes it’s both.

Having used the Neon Wand on me a few times now, my boyfriend has only two complaints about it. One is that there are no markings on the toy’s dial, so you can’t find your way back to a beloved intensity level with any precision; adjusting the dial is always a matter of eyeballing it and hoping for the best. His other issue with this Wand is that we topped out its abilities and he’d prefer something with more power, though, as the bottom in these scenes, I don’t think the Neon Wand’s power is insufficient; I think my boyfriend is just an insatiable sadist. (It’s okay, I can say that; I love him.) The good news is, there are lots of other E-stim toys we could try – and endorphins don’t last forever, so if he keeps hurting me during the floatiest interludes of subspace, eventually my body will circle back to interpreting the pain it’s feeling as pain. And then the squeals and grimaces will return, and my boyfriend the sadist will be sated.

I’m overall delighted with the Neon Wand. It’s an easy-to-use, low-maintenance, well-constructed introduction to the world of E-stim. Beyond the physical sensations it provides, the real gift it’s given me is another intimate way to connect with my partner through consensual pain and altered psychological states. Before dipping my toe into electro, I never would’ve guessed that getting zapped could feel so zen – but here I am, an electrostim evangelist, sighing contentedly at the memory of my stinging skin.

 

Thanks so much to SheVibe for sending me the Neon Wand to review!