sexting

How to Have Sex in a Long-Distance Relationship

Kate Sloan

For a long time I maintained that I would never be in a long-distance relationship, because sex and other forms of physical affection mattered too much to me.

However, then I fell in love with a brilliant, beautiful, dominant-leaning switch who lives 500 miles away from me, so… that whole “never ever doing an LDR” thing kinda flew out the window.

Before we ever even had sex IRL, it became apparent to us – in the many many hours we spent falling in love over the phone – that we couldn’t be one of those long-distance couples who wait until they’re physically together to share any kind of sexual intimacy. There’s nothing wrong with that type of relationship, of course, and if it works for its participants then I wish them well! But this post is for people who aren’t happy with that being their status quo, and who want to explore alternate ways of building a satisfying sex life within a long-distance relationship. Here are some of the things that have worked for me and Matt…

 

Phone sex

This is the first way we ever really had sex, and is still, by far, the most common way we get each other off. Although it’s largely gone out of vogue in favor of sexting and other more “modern” forms of long-distance sex, I still think nothing really beats the phone. Sexting feels too abstracted for me a lot of the time, as if I’m having sex with my iPhone rather than with my partner, whereas Skype sex, Zoom sex, etc. make me too self-conscious about my own appearance to really focus on feeling good. Phone sex strikes a happy medium between the two, allowing for the intimate immediacy of hearing your partner’s thoughts and reactions in real-time, but without the hyper-scrutiny that can arise in video sex.

My top tips for phone sex:

  1. Don’t use the actual phone, if you can help it. Do an audio call on something like FaceTime or Skype (yes, these normally video-centric services allow for audio-only calls). The quality is much better and so your experience will be better too.
  2. Get the right equipment. You don’t want to be fumbling with your handset while you’re trying to, um, “fumble with your handset.” For years I’ve used a pair of standard wired Apple earbuds, which have a microphone built-in, leaving my hands free to do other things.
  3. Talk about what you would do if you were physically together. It’s that simple. Or, if you prefer, you can use your imaginations to craft a roleplay scenario that would only be possible on the phone.

 

Sexting

It’s not my preferred way of having long-distance sex, but many people enjoy it. Personally I find it too hard to juggle typing and touching myself at the same time. Many of the folks I know who are into sexting say that they don’t really masturbate during the sexting, but moreso after it, when they can scroll back through the messages to their heart’s content. I prefer the real-time aspect of phone sex.

However, sexting can be really fun, and may be especially useful as an avenue for communication if you struggle to tell your partner about your sexual desires and preferences. After all, sometimes it’s easier to type “I want you to [x]” into your phone than to say it out loud to your partner’s beautiful face. I suggest reading Tina Horn’s book Sexting if you’re looking for advice on how to sext like a pro.

Sexting can also involve the exchange of sexy photos or videos, both of which can be lovely to receive (consensually, at appropriate times) when you’re missing your partner’s body.

 

Long-distance sex toys

There was a time when virtual sex via high-tech toys – a field of products sometimes known as “teledildonics” – was an exotic, futuristic concept, something technology magazines wrote about with wonderment and awe. These days, though, that type of toy is pretty widely available, so “touching” your partner via Bluetooth is a beloved option for many long-distance couples.

My partner has a long-distance stroker and butt plug, both of which we frequently use not only when we’re apart but also when we’re together, because sometimes my chronic pain is such that it’s easier for me to control sliders on my iPad screen than to actually give sensation with my own two hands.

The folks at Honeysx recommend the Magic Motion brand of remotely-controllable sex toys for long-distance couples. I like their bright, punchy aesthetic and reasonable prices!

 

Video sex

If you or your partner have an exhibitionistic or voyeuristic streak, this is probably something you’d enjoy. Personally, performing in front of a webcam or phone camera feels too much like, well, performing for me, which makes it hard for me to relax into arousal – but I know lots of people feel the polar opposite!

Make sure you use a medium that’s totally secure (someone Zoom-bombing your private moment would be pretty awful). Consider having sex toys on hand to use on yourself, as proxies for your partner’s hands/mouth/genitals/whatever.

 

What’s your preferred method of having long-distance sex?

 

This post was sponsored by Honeysx, a site that has a great selection of long-distance sex toys. As always, all writing and opinions are my own.

5 Ways to Explore Exhibitionism While Social-Distancing

Kate Sloan

As I’ve said before, one of the (seemingly very few) silver linings of the current global pandemic is that those of us privileged enough to be able to stay home will now have more time for sex, pleasure, and exploration – at least, if our libidos manage to overcome the anxiety we’re all feeling!

You could, for example, use this time to lean into any exhibitionistic impulses you’ve been harboring. Sometimes feeling desirable is the best cure for a low mood. Lucky for you, I’ve got some suggestions for ways to show off sexually without ever leaving your house!

Start with sexting. If you haven’t yet discovered the joys of adult live chat, now’s the time! When exchanging sexts with a sweetie, turn up the exhibitionism dial by sending them pictures that demonstrate just how much they’re turning you on (with consent, of course) or even just by describing how you’re touching yourself and how you look at that moment. This is a fairly low-pressure way to ease into exhibitionism if that’s a direction you’re interested in moving in.

Perform in front of a mirror. Your exhibitionism is just as valid if you’re the only voyeur! In fact, some people even prefer it that way. Set the mood however you like – sexy music, low lighting, incense, self-massage, and so on – and then go to town on yourself, either with toys or just with your hands. (I will add that now is an especially good time to put effort into sex toy hygiene! I know a popular male cam model who uses rubbing alcohol to keep his toys free of bacteria, but you don’t have to go that far – a thorough scrubdown with soap and water should be fine for nonporous toys, even if you plan to put them in your mouth.)

Put on a cam show. No, you don’t have to look like – or perform like – the best live webcam girls to put on a very sexy show! An intimate cam performance for one spectator, especially one you know well and are attracted to, often has quite a different vibe from the more well-known, professional variety. If you’re not sure what to do, ask your beau if they’d like to watch you get yourself off. Then you can stage a spectacle involving a drawn-out striptease, seductive self-touch all over your body, a thorough fucking with sex toys, or whatever else you please. And hey, if you end up loving the experience and want to start putting on shows for groups and/or strangers, there are lots of places online to do that!

Send someone audio of your orgasm. The way you sound while you’re coming is probably super hot, even if you personally don’t think so! Use the voice memo function on your phone – or, if you’re fancy, a proper microphone and recording software – to record yourself getting off, and then send out the audio to any sweetheart or crush who enthusiastically consents to hear it. This can be a fun follow-up to an earlier sexting convo (“Wanna hear how hard I got off while re-reading your words?”), a follow-through on a kinky assignment (“I jerked off the way you wanted me to, Madame – here’s proof!”), or an out-of-the-blue lust-bomb.

Take thirst traps. Look, you’ve probably got time to kill at the moment – may as well spend it shooting nudes ‘n’ lewds if you are that way inclined. This could even be a self-care and self-love ritual of sorts, at a time when those things are very much needed. You could take a long, luxurious bath or shower, get dressed up and/or dolled up so you feel as foxy as possible, and then document the moment with your phone or camera. Depending on your comfort level, you may want to share the pics with one or two people, no one at all, or the entire internet – you can elicit that exhibitionistic rush either way!

Have you been engaging in any of these exhibitionistic behaviors while social-distancing? How’s it going?

 

This post was sponsored. 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.

Sexting, Spanking, Stroking: What “Counts” As Sex?

Kate Sloan

In the 12th grade I took a psychology/sociology/anthropology class, the first day of which was spent debating what constituted “sex.”

Our teacher said it was a useful exercise to get us thinking about the nuances of the class’s subject matter – and he was right. The ensuing discussion was psychosocial and sociocultural, surprisingly thoughtful for a roomful of horny teenagers.

One person suggested sex could be defined as a physical act meant to invoke sensual pleasure in oneself and one’s partner, but someone else pointed out that under this definition, holding hands could be considered sex. Another person thought orgasm should be part of the definition, but of course that leaves out all the perfectly valid sex that doesn’t involve orgasms, whether by choice or not. We debated whether sex had to involve romantic feelings (no), penetration (no), mutual pleasure (no), genital touching (mayyybe?). Despite feeling fairly certain we knew what sex was, we couldn’t agree on a definition that we felt included all the things it ought to and excluded all the things it ought to.

This was years before the “galaxy brain” meme became popular, but damn if that wasn’t a galaxy-brain moment for me. If I didn’t know what sex was or wasn’t, then could sex be… almost anything? Could I experience sexual pleasure from… almost anything?

I’ve been writing about sex online for the better part of a decade now, and my understanding of what “sex” is has only become broader and murkier as time has progressed (not to mention, as acts like sexting and phone sex have become a bigger and bigger part of my life). I’m not sure I know what sex is. I’m not sure I ever knew.

I’m playing Scrabble and drinking wine with a cute, toppy enby at their house. It’s our second date. They’re really, really good at Scrabble; they beat me spectacularly. And then I ask if they want to beat me in another way.

They are amenable, and I sprawl over their lap, face down and ass up, like a good girl. They warm up my ass with light swats and then transition into more substantial smacks. The impacts get louder and the pain gets worse and I almost want to cry and it’s so so good.

When we mutually decide we’re done with impact, I sit in their lap and kiss them, our hands roaming lazily along each other’s skin. I feel like a sweet, petite princess under their gaze. The kisses fade out like the end of a pop song, and they gesture at the Scrabble board. “Wanna play again?”

Does this count as sex?

Kink, as you may well know, makes everything more complicated.

Where previously I might have said that a sexual activity had to involve genital touching for me to consider it “sex,” the deeper I’ve waded into my kinky identity, the less certain I am that that’s true. When you’re a spanking fetishist, for example, your butt basically is a genital region, or at least, your brain and body respond as if it were (and isn’t that the whole point?). Does that make the feet a sexual organ for foot fetishists? Is the brain a sexual organ for hypnokinksters?

I keep a sex spreadsheet, and currently my threshold for including an encounter there is:

  1. At least one person’s genitals must be touched by at least one other person
  2. The purpose of the interaction must be for sexual pleasure
  3. It must “feel like sex” to me

Of course, that last point is the most nebulous, and probably the most important. Some spankings leave me panting and dishevelled, satisfied and wrecked, like good sex; others just feel like a few fun swats from a pal. Some sexting sessions feel obscene and all-encompassing; others just feel like typing words into a phone. Maybe it’s okay for your definition of sex to be subjective. But then, what happens if someone thinks they’re fucking you, deeply and fully, and to you it just feels like a bit of rollin’ around?

My fuckbuddy is looking particularly cute tonight – but I swear I think that every time I see him. He’s naked in the pool at the sex club, sipping a cider, not a trace of self-consciousness in his body. We’ve been chatting for a good few minutes, but suddenly the cadence of our conversation shifts. I set my drink down by the side of the pool and he starts kissing me and it is the most natural thing, the most familiar treat.

His hand is in my hair and his other hand is on my back and his legs are pulling me closer and I’m tugging on his chest hair and his beard is scraping my cheeks. There are so many sensory details I associate with him and basically no one else: a splash of chlorine, the squeak of wet skin on skin. He is also a certified master of dry-humping: his hard cock finds my clit underwater with perpetually startling precision. Our most sensitive spots slide against each other as our kisses get deeper and more frenetic.

After languorous minutes of this, I am turned on – but tired. It’s been a long day. Normally at this point we would progress to sex, but I want to stop here; this was enough. I explain, and he understands, and we kiss goodnight. I get out of the pool and towel off, feeling glowy and gorgeous.

Does this count as sex?

I hate the narrative that sex without penetration isn’t sex at all. This myth is rampant, misogynist, homophobic, transphobic, and so many other things that make me shudder. In Laurie Mintz’s book Becoming Cliterate, she reports – based on a survey she did – that while two-thirds of women consider it “sex” when someone goes down on them, only one-third of men consider it “sex” when they go down on someone. The clitoris is the anatomical equivalent of the penis; it’s absurd that when the latter is stimulated, it’s widely considered sex, while the same isn’t true for the former.

And yet… when my clit is merely grazed, or lightly rubbed, and there’s nothing inside me, often it doesn’t feel to me like sex. It feels like something that could’ve happened accidentally, if I was squeezing past strangers on a train or enjoying a particularly deep kiss.

Have I internalized the concept that “foreplay” alone isn’t real sex? Or do I simply know what I like? Is it okay to build one’s own definition of sex based on what one finds subjectively sexual, or does that inherently exclude people who experience sex differently? Maybe it’s inevitable that humanity can never agree on a universal definition of sex. Maybe that’s okay.

My boyfriend calls me up, as he does almost every night. After a few minutes of catch-up conversation and goofy giggles, some particular piece of flirty repartée makes his voice drop an octave into a distinctly dommy register. We’ve been sexting on-and-off all day; we want each other, and on the phone, we can almost have each other. The game is on.

Dictating my every move, he guides me through gentle touches, a satisfying spanking, and a deep hard fuck with a dildo and vibrator. My body provides motion while his voice provides direction, excitement, encouragement. My eventual orgasm feels collaborative, like a canvas we both slung paint at until it was beautiful.

Does this count as sex?

I thought I was at peace with my (lack of a) definition of sex, and then I got into a long-distance relationship.

Sexting and phone sex are hugely popular endeavors, as the plethora of free sexting sites and phone sex operators on the internet will attest. But are they sex?

For a long time, I didn’t think so. I didn’t record these encounters on my spreadsheet; I didn’t say “We fucked,” but rather, “We had phone sex.” Meanwhile, my partner was viewing those late-night phone calls as sex with me, which was a bit of a weird disconnect. It was like that scene in Down With Love when a smitten Ewan McGregor tries to get Renée Zellweger’s blasé, love-wary character to sleep with him: “So I can make love to you – heartfelt, passionate, worshipping, adoring love – and you can still have meaningless sex with me, right?” It’s strange to have a vastly different conception of sex from the person you’re having it with.

So I stayed open to the idea that sexting and phone sex could feel like sex, could be sex. And after a year of getting lascivious on the phone almost every night (why are we like this??), I can now report that it indeed feels like a sexual act to me. I look forward to it like sex; I get fully engrossed in it like sex; it satisfies me like sex; it brings me and my partner closer like sex. And it’s upwards of 70% of our sex life together, so it would feel odd to write it off as “illegitimate” in some way. I still don’t record it in my spreadsheet alongside IRL encounters, only because it doesn’t pose a risk as far as STIs and pregnancy, so I have less of a need to track it. But maybe someday I’ll start doing it anyway.

As our culture goes deeper down the rabbit hole of stuff like sex robots and teledildonics, we’re going to have to broaden our definition of sex. And that, I think, is a very good thing.

 

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

Slow Burn

Kate Sloan

There is no sex hotter than the sex you almost had.

We almost had it. But the timing wasn’t right. Time was not on our side. Out of time. Time to go.

So we took to our phones and made up for lost time.

There is no sex hotter than sex you picture for weeks before having it. Months, even. In slow-unfolding sext-a-thons and wandering phone calls. In café daydreams and bathtub reveries. In subway imaginings too carnal for public consumption.

Do they know? Do they know I’m thinking about you?

Do you know?

I’ve considered your body. A body I don’t know well. I’ve considered its weight.

I’ve been crushed beneath you in my mind a thousand times. A myriad of melting me’s, acquiescing in sequence. I’ve looped the mental tape like a well-loved song. Your kiss is catchy. Your eyes, an earworm. Your heart, a hook. And I’m hooked, and I’m helpless.

They say a memory’s not just a memory. It’s stacked with neural residue from each time the file’s been reviewed. Date Modified: Today.

So the image of your touch isn’t really your touch; it’s the ways I’ve remembered it, the ways I’ve reshaped it by remembering it. I wish I’d made duplicates. I wish I had the pristine originals, tucked away in a lockbox deep in my limbic system. But even those, I would take out too often and muck up with dust.

A few days after our first date – that blazing conversation over coffee, and the rough kisses that unavoidably ensued – I texted you, “I wish I had paid more attention, even though I was paying very close attention. I wish I had it memorized.”

“I wish I took notes,” you wrote back. “I wish I had it recorded somehow. I wish I could rewatch it.”

So we replay it in micro-detail, a back-and-forth volley of “Remember when…?” and “Then you…” and “I thought…” We layer and re-layer memory engrams, like neuropsychological Jenga. We fill in every blank for each other until our first date becomes not just a story but a legend. Not just an anecdote but a prophecy fulfilled.

Sometimes you think you know tiredness, because bleary-eyed yawning is part of the fabric of your life – but then one day you come up against exhaustion, and it’s a different beast entirely. Its maw opens unendingly and draws you down, down, down. Habitual tiredness is not exhaustion. You know exhaustion when you feel it.

Just like you know desire when you feel it. You can go through life developing quaint crushes, flirting with people in elevators and bars, and spouting wink emoticons like an addictive currency. But those things are no more desire than a handful of potato chips is a meal. You know desire when you feel it. It knocks you over like a truck smashing through glass.

You know it because you can’t ignore it. There are so few unignorable sensations in the world, so few experiences we can’t tune out if we press our brains to the grindstone. Desire gnaws and needs and needles you. It chases you down neural pathways. It whirls pointlessly in your periphery. Stop, you say, and it laughs and says, Naaah.

I’ve considered your body. A body I don’t know well. I’ve screamed into my pillow while considering it. I’ve grasped uselessly at places where you weren’t. I’ve dragged more orgasms out of me than I thought possible, clinging to the notion of your face. And still it’s not enough. And still I desire. And still, I can’t be still.

I hope to find my mind again someday, when the smog of want has cleared. When this slow burn snuffs into smoke. But I hope – my secret, darkest hope – it stays alight a little longer.