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Online Dating Tips for Demisexuals

Kate Sloan
My actual Tinder profile

I’m demisexual, meaning that I don’t have the capacity to feel sexually attracted to someone until I have some kind of emotional connection with them and have a good sense of who they are as a person.

Mostly I’m fine with being this way – my demisexuality fits nicely into my introverted lifestyle – but sometimes I wish I were capable of developing sexual attractions quicker, especially since that seems to be very much the norm on dating sites/apps. It can be hard to navigate these fast-paced online hubs of sex ‘n’ romance when you’re slow-moving in these realms. Sometimes it’s difficult enough to make a person want to give up altogether.

I’ve found a few strategies that help me in this regard, though. Here are some online dating tips for demisexuals. As per usual, take ’em with a grain of salt, because we’re all different – but I hope they help you, if indeed you need/want help with this issue.

 

1. Choose the right site/app to begin with

It’s easy to get intimidated when you look through a list of dating sites or apps and don’t even know where to start. But many apps and sites designed to facilitate human connection are geared toward a certain type of human connection – and likewise, there are some apps and sites that don’t explicitly try to be hookup-focused, or queer-focused, or kink-focused, or whatever, but may attract certain demographics anyway for various reasons.

In my experience, for instance, Tinder is not always the best choice for someone who wants a long-term relationship, or a relationship where sex is of minimal or no importance. On the flipside, I wouldn’t typically recommend Match.com for someone who just wanted a hookup. Do some research (including “field research” if need be) to get a sense of which sites and apps are most aligned with what you’re looking for, and use those.

Some of these services are more demisexual-friendly than others. I like the text-forward interface of Lex, for example, because it allows me to get to know someone’s communication style and a little bit about how their brain works, before seeing what they even look like. OkCupid can also be good for demisexuals because its filtering tools and compatibility questions are powerful and can help you narrow down your dating pool to people you’re mostly aligned with.

 

2. State your hopes and expectations in your profile

I often include a line in my online dating bios that’s something like “More into fun dates than hookups” and “I like to take things slow and get to know people.” I think a statement like this can do a lot of heavy lifting in terms of attracting people who have similar desires and repelling people who don’t.

I’ve also seen people say they were looking for “friends, and maybe more eventually,” which I think can be a good approach for demisexuals. If you do become friends with someone you met on a dating site/app, then at least you’ll still have a friend even if an attraction doesn’t end up developing between you.

An important thing to keep in mind here is that there’s absolutely no need to shame people who are more interested in casual sex than you are. We all have different needs, wants, and preferences. Yours isn’t more ethical, good or “respectable” just because you like to get to know people before potentially boning them.

 

3. Ask questions whose answers you might find hot

I know myself well enough, at this point in my dating life, to know that I find it attractive when people are highly enthusiastic about a particular passion of theirs, whether that be movies, music, cocktails, video games, or just about anything else. So I’ll often ask people about their passions, or about activities in their life that light them up, because the answers to these questions can awaken a spark of attraction to me that is sometimes later fanned into a proper flame as I get to know them better.

Consider what questions you could ask to take the fastest (or funnest) possible route to info that might stir your interest, and ask those more often when you’re chatting with potential dates online. In doing this, you’re helping them out and helping yourself have a better time.

 

4. Consider limiting initial dates to the daytime

I have a hard time saying no to sex when I have a strong sense that the person I’m on a date with is expecting or hoping for sex to happen. Most of the people I’ve been on dates with have been kind, considerate, and non-pressure-y, so I’m aware that this is a problem that exists largely in my own head and that it’s okay to have boundaries. But, for this reason, I often find it easiest to go on first dates (or second or third dates) in the daytime, because there tends to be less of an expectation that sex will happen at the end of the date.

Afternoon coffee dates, weekend brunch dates, and walking-through-a-park dates can all be good for this. If I want to be extra sure that sex won’t be expected, I might let the person know about what I’ll be doing afterward, e.g. that I have to get back to work or that I have plans with a friend.

It’s not that I couldn’t have consensual, enjoyable sex if I went home with someone on a first date. It’s definitely happened. But for me, sex on a first date is almost always sex without sexual attraction, because I usually simply haven’t had enough time to develop an attraction at that point. And personally, I’d rather wait until I really want to have sex with someone before having it.

 

5. Remember, above all, that your boundaries are valid

It’s okay to want to wait a while to have sex. Hell, it’d be okay if you never wanted to have sex. It might mean that you’re not compatible with some of the people you go on dates with, but that’d be true no matter what your deal was. Sometimes people just aren’t compatible with each other, and that’s okay. Either one or both of them can compromise, if they’re comfortable doing so, or they can go their separate ways.

An important caveat there is that you never have to compromise if you don’t want to have sex. “No” is a complete sentence, as the saying goes. It can trigger a lot of shame and self-doubt when someone pressures you into moving faster than you want to, especially if they start making claims like “Other people I’ve dated haven’t wanted to wait this long to have sex” or “The way you feel about sex isn’t normal.” But please try to remember, if you can, that anyone worth dating (or fucking!) will respect your boundaries.

Sure, they might end up saying, “You know what? This isn’t working for me, so I think we should stop seeing each other.” That’s a normal part of the dating process, for anyone. But never forget that you are well within your rights to say no, or even to get up and leave. You don’t owe anyone sex. You don’t even owe anyone an explanation for why you don’t feel like having sex. And the more you can internalize that knowledge, and the more you practice setting and holding your boundaries, the more delicious it’ll feel when an attraction finally develops and you find yourself wanting to have sex with a particular person.

A true “yes” can’t exist in an environment where a “no” is shamed, dismissed or belittled. I hope that you find your true “yes,” because it feels so damn good.

 

This post contains a sponsored link. As always, all writing and opinions are my own.

4 Ways to Tell Your Partner About Your Kink

Kate Sloan

I’ve answered hundreds, if not thousands, of questions about kink in my career as a sex writer and educator – and one of the most common ones, without a doubt, is: “How do I tell my partner about my kinks?”

It’s an understandable thing to wonder. The seemingly obvious answer is “Just tell them,” but if it were that easy, people wouldn’t be asking the question in the first place. What they really mean when they ask this is: How do I conjure the courage to tell my partner about my kinks, given that I know they might react badly?

My best friend, sex educator Bex Caputo, would say: Don’t make it a big deal. If you tell them about your fetish with the same foreboding tone you’d use to tell them you got cancer, you’re setting yourself up for failure. Humans take a lot of cues from each other socially and psychologically, on both conscious and unconscious levels, and so if you disclose your kink in a way that’s fun and flirty instead of scary or self-flagellating, you’re much likelier to get a good response.

But there are a lot of different ways to do that. Let’s talk about some of them. (And please keep in mind that all of these suggestions are just ways to ease a disclosure and start a conversation – not finish it. You should always do some sort of negotiation before trying a kink that’s new to either of you, to make sure you’re on the same page about basic stuff like what’s going to happen, who’s going to do what, what your safeword[s] or safe-signal[s] will be, and what kind of aftercare you’ll each need.)

 

Fill out a Yes/No/Maybe list. This is a classic kink negotiation tool that’s especially useful at the beginnings of relationships when you don’t know each other’s tastes yet, or in established relationships when you’re in search of a sexual shake-up. Basically it’s a list where you both categorize a bunch of different kinks into 4 categories:

  1. Yes, Into = Yes, I enthusiastically want to try this thing
  2. Yes, Willing = Yes, I would be happy to try this thing if you wanted to try it, though I’m not 100% enthusiastic about it myself
  3. Maybe = I might be willing to try this thing under some circumstances; let’s discuss further
  4. No = I absolutely do not want to try this thing

Once you each complete your list, you can compare notes and see where there’s overlap and where there decidedly isn’t, and then go from there.

There are digital tools that make this process easy, like Old.MojoUpgrade.com, or you could pick up a copy of my book and go through it together, adding each kink to your list as you go.

 

“So I had this dream…” If you’re prepared to tell a little white lie to kick off a kink chat with your partner, you could always just say you had a sexy dream about [insert kink here] and then ask a question like:

  • Doesn’t that sound hot?
  • Have you ever tried that?
  • What do you think about that?
  • Would you ever want to try that?
  • Ever wondered what that would be like?
  • Does that seem like something we’d do?

This gives you a bit of plausible deniability, so that if (god forbid) they get judgey or freak out, you can say, “Well, it was just a dream.” (And then maybe decide whether you want to end the relationship and move on, ’cause… yikes.)

 

Porn, erotica, or live cam shows. If you have the type of relationship where the two of you consume sexual media together – whether as a prelude to sex or just for entertainment purposes – then this can be a good way to guide a conversation toward your particular interests.

You could, for example, suggest that the two of you each curate a playlist of 2-3 porn clips that you’ll watch together, or 1-2 erotica stories you’ll read together, alternating back and forth between theirs and yours. Maybe you set a theme, like “things we want to try,” or maybe you both just pick things you like to jerk off to when you’re alone. This is especially great because, when both partners are committed to the exercise, each of you ends up being bravely vulnerable in a way that makes it easier for the other person to do the same.

Sites featuring live webcam models, like FetishCamSites.com, can also provide a media-based jumping-off point for kink discussions. Maybe seeing a cute camgirl spank herself on-screen with a paddle could get your partner curious about paddles, for instance…

 

Sex shop visit. Now, don’t get me wrong: I would not recommend buying a flogger/enema/Neon Wand/whatever for a partner who has never expressed any interest in owning or using one. It’s presumptuous, financially risky (depending on how pricey the item is and whether its retailer has a good returns policy), and can make your sweetie feel pressured to say yes even if they don’t want to.

But, visiting a sex shop together can prompt some productive conversations about sex and kink. It’s easy to make up an excuse to do this, like needing to pick up some condoms or lube, or just walking past a sex shop and saying, “Hey, wanna check this place out?”

If your fetish is equipment-based – e.g. chastity, whipping, pegging – then you can locate that equipment in the store (you may need to check their stock ahead of time if it’s a specialty piece) and then ask your partner one of the questions I recommended in the “So I had this dream…” suggestion above. If your fetish isn’t related to any particular paraphernalia, you could instead pick up a kink book that you know mentions it (perhaps mine!), flip to that page, and ask the same sorts of questions.

 

Of course, there are more ways to communicate a fetish to a partner than just the ones listed here. What methods have worked best for you? How would you want a partner to tell you about their fetish?

 

This post contains a sponsored link. As always, all writing and opinions are my own.

Review: Womanizer Liberty by Lily Allen

Kate Sloan

If you were following along with new developments in the sex toy industry back when the first Womanizer model launched, then you know that these toys had an ugly start. Literally.

The tragically-named company was bringing an exciting new technology to the market – pressure-wave stimulation, i.e. making clits feel good with rhythmic pulses of air – but they had made a grave miscalculation (in my view) by festooning their new toys in cartoonish leopard print and over-the-top rhinestones. The product itself was giving folks with vulvas a whole different type of stimulation than they were used to, so Womanizer could’ve gone with a much less gaudy aesthetic and still intrigued consumers around the globe. And yet, they went with designs so garish that I was frankly kind of embarrassed when friends spotted the toy on my nightstand. (As you can imagine, in my line of work, that situation doesn’t usually embarrass me…)

I say this not to retroactively shame Womanizer, but to say that I really appreciate the aesthetic direction the brand has taken over the past few years, particularly since they were acquired by We-Vibe. Their current lineup is sleek and sophisticated-looking. If you love leopard print, perhaps you’re crestfallen (I can appreciate it too, just not on a sex toy), but I’m delighted that consumers can access pressure-wave toys now without their friends and lovers making comments such as, “Did an Elvis impersonator in Vegas throw that at you from the stage?” or “Liberace called; he wants his vibrator back.”

The most recent addition to my Womanizer collection, sent to me by the lovely folks at XOXTOYS, is the Womanizer Liberty by Lily Allen, a special-edition toy co-designed by the British singer/songwriter whose name it bears. Prior to trying this toy, the only other thing I knew about Lily Allen was that she did a song called “Alfie” that I liked (I think it was even my ringtone for a while in middle school). I’m not quite sure to what extent she was actually involved in the design process for this toy, but I imagine that she at least picked the colors, and they’re good ones: a very 1960s juxtaposition of hot pink and bright orange. I actually love this color combo and find it uplifting to see this toy on my nightstand.

Another aesthetic thing I like about the Lily Allen Womanizer is that it comes with a matching “travel cover,” a piece of curvy hard plastic that the Womanizer slots into perfectly, so that it’ll be protected from dirt, dust and damage in your purse or suitcase, and also won’t be immediately recognizable as a sex toy to any nosy relative or TSA agent who happens to spot it.

In terms of what the toy actually does, though… This Womanizer has six intensity levels and no patterns, which I respect. I’m not a patterns person, but if you are, this isn’t the toy for you.

I don’t always love reviewing pressure-wave toys, because I find the differences between them more subtle and difficult to discern than the differences between vibrators or dildos. But this Womanizer actually feels markedly different from most other pressure-wave toys I’ve tried. It feels… thumpier? Stronger? Sharper? More aggressive? There’s an intensity to the sensation that I don’t often run across in these toys. It feels like someone is firmly tapping against my clit.

I imagine that this intensity is what makes the Womanizer Liberty such a hit with so many online reviewers. For me, it’s a bit hit-or-miss. My clit enjoys the first couple of modes, but after that, the jumps between settings start to feel a bit wide for my preferences. Things’ll be feeling good, and then I’ll hit the “+” button and be jarred out of the moment a little bit by how much more insistent the stimulation suddenly gets.

The thing is, sometimes that’s an unwelcome sensation for me, but other times, there’s a bit of forced-orgasm hotness to it – like a dom is holding a slightly-too-strong vibrator against my bits and trying to (consensually) induce a climax in me whether I like it or not.

And indeed, I have orgasmed several times with this toy. I will say, it’s a bit more hard-won than with some other toys, because I’m constantly engaged in a dance of turning up the toy when I want more and then turning it back down when I want less, until I finally reach orgasm. But frankly, I prefer that over some other pressure-wave toys that are so depressingly weak that they have no hope of getting me off. There’s never any doubt in my mind that the Womanizer Liberty by Lily Allen is gonna get me there, although it might take a while.

Perhaps my favorite feature of this toy is the buttons. There was a night recently when I was trying to sleep but kept having intrusive sexual fantasies about receiving oral (what else is new), so I decided to quickly jerk off so that hopefully I could get some shut-eye. Literally without removing my eye mask, I was able to reach over, grab this Womanizer, position it on my bits and turn it on. It only has two buttons, a “plus” one and a “minus” one, and the “plus” one is significantly larger. This makes it shockingly easy to operate this toy in the dark, even while half-asleep or intoxicated (trust me, I’d know).

This Womanizer is one of the more powerful pressure-wave toys I’ve tried, despite its small size. It’s also definitely the most travel-friendly of any I’ve used. It doesn’t stimulate as much of my clitoral shaft as the Lelo Sila – so if you have a larger clit, or are a transmasculine person with bottom growth, this may not be the one for you. It doesn’t have fancy patterns and modes, like the Womanizer Premium does.

But it’s probably the prettiest pressure-wave toy I own, at least for my particular aesthetic tastes, and it’s also one of the quietest and most discreet toys in their lineup. Whether or not you’re a Lily Allen fan, I think you stand a good chance of enjoying the Womanizer Liberty by Lily Allen. This sex toy company has had some failures and some successes, and I think this toy is firmly in the “successes” pile, even if it’s not my favorite ever.

 

Thanks to the folks at XOXTOYS for sending me this toy! This post was sponsored, meaning I was paid to write a fair and honest review of the product. As always, all writing and opinions are my own.

10 Myths People Mistakenly Believe About Sex Toy Reviewers

Kate Sloan
Pictured, from L to R: the Fucking Sculptures Double Trouble, Fucking Sculptures G-Spoon, Tantus Tsunami and VixSkin Mustang

I’ve been doing this sex toy reviewer thing for a long time – over a decade, in fact – and there are a handful of myths about my line of work that I run into again and again. Let’s bust ’em, baby.

  1. We “masturbate for a living.” Look, I completely understand why so many people react to hearing about my job in a way that boils down to “Must be nice!” My career, indeed, involves an activity I love (writing), focused on subject matter I’m passionate about (sex). I’m extremely privileged to have a job I enjoy and can physically do, despite the chronic illnesses I live with. But I promise you, I only spend about 2% of my working hours actually masturbating, if that – and it isn’t “normal” masturbation because it’s for work, not for pleasure. I have to pay attention, take notes, compare different toys to each other, etc. rather than just being able to enjoy myself, and often end up ruining my own orgasms in the process. It’s a fun job in many ways, yes, but probably not in the ways you’d think!
  2. Sex toy reviewing takes no skill. Uh, nope. Most people can hold a vibrator on their bits or insert a dildo into their body; most people cannot summarize and analyze the cultural context of that toy, compare it usefully to several others in its category, write a compelling and well-crafted review, take photos to go with it, pre-emptively answer questions that consumers will wonder about, promote reviews effectively on social media, implement SEO, keep up with industry trends, and so on and so forth. As with media workers in any specialized “beat,” sex toy reviewers tend to develop their own skillset and style. To devalue that is to misunderstand the work and what goes into it.
  3. We are sluts who are always DTF. Oh, certainly some of us are. I have been at certain times in my life. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with being a slut. But don’t assume someone’s personality and entire life revolve around sex just because their career does. And certainly don’t assume you’ll have an easier time getting laid if you’re on a date with a sexual media-maker than with anybody else. I often feel pressured to live up to the “manic sexy dream girl” fantasy some people seem to have about me, and it sucks.
  4. We prefer using toys over having sex with human beings. There’s nothing wrong with people who do feel this way, but it’s reductive to assume someone will feel this way because their work focuses on sex toys. And, as ever, I must remind you: sex toys and human partners are not mutually exclusive. The two can and do coexist in sexual encounters. Most of my best sex ever has involved toys.
  5. We can’t find sexual partners because they’re too intimidated by what they do. I have to laugh and call bullshit on this one. Many of my sex toy reviewer friends are in high demand in their sex/dating lives, sometimes partly because of what they do, not just in spite of it. As for reviewers for whom that’s not the case, it’s worth noting that it doesn’t even fucking matter. The number of sexual partners you attract or pursue has nothing to do with your intrinsic value as a human being, or the quality of the work that you do. And if someone would judge you for something as innocuous as reviewing sex toys, IMO they’re not worth dating or fucking anyway.
  6. We’re also sex workers. Some of us are (kudos to those folks!), and I have dabbled in sex work myself and usually enjoyed it. But it’s strange to assume that someone writing about sex toys automatically means they’ll sell you nudes or a cam show, or that you’ll be able to meet up with them for sex, paid or unpaid.
  7. We sell sex toys. It continues to surprise me how often I get emails and DMs from people who think that I run a sex toy store, or who want me to supply them with wholesale sex toys to sell at their shop. I do not do this and have never done this, but there are plenty of great stores and distributors out there that do sell toys (including wholesale adult toys) if that’s what you’re after!
  8. Sex toy reviewing can only ever be a hobby. To be clear, there are a ton of people for whom sex toy reviewing is a hobby or a side gig, and that’s absolutely valid! But in my case, it actually is the vast majority of the work that I do, and brings in the vast majority of my income – so it’s funny and sometimes a bit insulting when people say stuff like, “Oh, fun! What’s your actual job, though?”
  9. We owe you details about our personal life. I get that when someone shares intimate details about themselves, it can be surprising that they’d choose to be private and guarded in other areas of their life. But one thing sex toy reviewing has taught me is that I can be selectively open. Good boundary-setting is an important part of the job, I think.
  10. We’ll regret it. I do know people who have regretted reviewing sex toys, often because they incurred harassment online, offline, or both, from people who thought that this work was worthy of denigration or evidence of some kind of moral failing. But a lot of sex toy reviewers use pseudonyms precisely so that they can do this work without (as much) fear of it coming back to bite them in the ass. I did that myself for several years, fearing repercussions if future employers stumbled across what I’d been writing – but then I realized that this was what I was meant to do, full-time, so I came out publicly about my name and identity and have never once regretted it.

What myths have you heard about sex toy reviewers?

 

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

What My Objectification Kink Taught Me About Relationships

Kate Sloan

There are many forms of “objectification play” that I’ve experimented with, and the older I get, the more I seem to enjoy this kink.

There’s the version where I’m a literal object, usually a piece of furniture like a footstool or drink-holder, performing a functional service that may not appear outwardly sexual but can feel very sexual on the inside.

There’s the version where I pretend to be a doll – either a literal, porcelain doll, or a full-grown adult who’s been transformed via hypnosis or drugs into a “human sex doll” – and then get to be “used” by my “owner.”

There’s the form of objectification that most non-kinky people are familiar with, the kind that shows up in fashion magazines and in plenty of porn, wherein I’m viewed as a sexual object without agency or personhood, just a series of willing and fuckable holes.

And there are lots more ways this kink can play out that I haven’t even tried yet.

 

As with many kinks of mine, a lot of what appeals to me about objectification is the way it helps me reclaim and subvert shitty nonconsensual experiences I’ve had in the past. All the Tinder bros who text shit like “u up?” and “ready to be my fuk machine tonight?” All the hookups who cared more about getting off than giving pleasure. All the times I thought I meant something to my date on an emotional level – even one as simple as “I like her and like having conversations with her” – but it turns out that apparently I didn’t.

The sting of these mistreatments has eased a bit after several years, but I can still bring those feelings vibrantly to mind if I focus on those memories. Because I’ve paired that type of objectification with consent and pleasure in roleplays with trusted partners, the idea of being sexually objectified in this way is no longer quite as abhorrent to me – because I know it can be done in consensual ways.

Granted, none of the people with whom I’ve play-acted objectification actually saw me as objects; that was what allowed the play-acting to indeed feel like play and not like senseless cruelty.

 

As someone who writes about sex toys professionally (including, occasionally, sex dolls), I find it oddly gratifying to pretend to be a sex toy of sorts from time to time. There’s something subversive and relaxing to me about setting aside the sexual machines I’ve been writing about all day and then getting to morph into a sexual machine myself.

See, when I’m being objectified in a deeply consensual and intentional way, my mind gets to shut off. And I value that a lot, as someone whose mind is always racing with anxiety and deadlines.

But also, in my career as a sex scribe, I’ve encountered countless people who thought that my career choice was an invitation for harassment and nonconsensual sexualization. They thought that my creative interest in topics like sexual psychology and the history of the porn industry was reason enough to see me as a walking, talking sex doll who exists to spice up their boring lives.

I understand the desire to have your life overtaken by someone interesting and magical – it’s the reason “manic pixie dream girl” stories continue to get cranked out year after year. It’s also something I’ve felt myself, during long hours of swiping on Tinder late into the night, always hoping that the next swipe would conjure a life-altering force, someone so cute and charming and kind and loving that my entire daily existence would take on a different tenor just from having them around.

But as I’ve been learning in therapy, viewing other people as potential “redeemers” or “saviors” gives your power away. It strips you of the knowledge that you have the ability to make yourself happy more readily and more profoundly than any external person can. It makes you feel dependent on people you never actually needed and maybe never even really wanted.

 

So I’ve been on both sides of the objectification equation: I’ve been objectified (a lot), and in some ways I’ve objectified other people too, seen them as heroes or saviors or props in my life story.

This is no doubt why it feels so good to me now when I play with objectification, from either side of the D/s slash. Because it shows me the difference between the consensual and nonconsensual versions of these dynamics – and even equips me with the communication tools I need to say, “No. Stop. You’re putting me in a role I didn’t consent to, and I will not stand for that.”

 

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