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Can Camming Be Sex?

Kate Sloan

Here’s a story I’m embarrassed to share. (Gosh, that should just be the tagline of this blog, shouldn’t it?)

My first serious relationship was a monogamous one, but I still thought it would be fine to show off my naked body online. Of course, it crossed my mind that my boyfriend might have an issue with it, but the odds seemed too low to bring it up. (I know. I know. Don’t worry, I’ve learned better communication skills since then!)

So I would post nudes on illicit subreddits, and tease Twitter with my cleavage, and even do occasional cam shows – getting naked, jerking off with toys, the whole shebang. (I know. I KNOW.)

Of course, when my boyfriend found out about this, he was upset. We talked about it, and I stopped. Part of our initial disagreement on this matter came from differing definitions of relationship boundaries, which we should’ve talked about earlier – I believed my body was mine to show off as I pleased, short of actually having any kind of sex with other people. But the other basis for our disagreement was that exact definition of sex. I had, by that point, broadened my view of sex to include things like fingering, handjobs, and oral sex, but it had never really occurred to me to consider cam shows a type of sex. They were a sexual interaction, sure, and they could be sex work in some transactional contexts, but I didn’t think of them as the type of sex one would have to reserve only for one’s partner in a monogamous relationship.

Fast-forward the better part of a decade, and now I’m in a long-distance relationship. By necessity, I’ve come to view the various types of digitally-enabled long-distance sexual communication I engage in – sexting, phone sex, and yes, cam shows – as valid forms of sex. After all, they make up the bulk of my sex life at this point, and are every bit as arousing, exciting, intimate, and connective as the in-person sex I have with my partner. It would be selling both of us short to insist that these things are not sex.

Nothing sexual is ever quite that simple, though. I can’t say I always felt like I was “having sex” when I performed online for paying customers, trying to tune out their watchful eyes as I fucked myself with a dildo – but was I having sex? Do both people have to have their webcams turned on for it to “count” as sex? Is a sex cam show (as in, a show where two or more people are fucking on camera) different from a masturbation cam show, in that the viewer is more of a viewer than a direct participant? As we’ve seen countless times before, technology solves many sexual problems, but raises a slew of new sexual questions at the same time.

Bummer alert: I’m thinking about these types of questions a lot more now that we’re in the midst of the COVID-19 outbreak. A BuzzFeed article reports some people are sexting with their Tinder matches in lieu of meeting them at bustling bars and the like. The virus may abound in public places, but you’re more-or-less safe behind the screen of your phone, tucked securely away in your apartment. Around the time of the AIDS crisis, the concept of “safer sex” spread to the masses, but just last year I saw a Reddit post from an “incel” claiming that sex with a condom on doesn’t “count” as real sex. Digital forms of sex, too, are simultaneously decried as a poor substitute for “the real thing” and lauded as a safer alternative to physical closeness. Whether the “protection” you’re using is a condom or a smartphone, I don’t think the sex you’re having is any less real than unprotected and traditional types.

I think ultimately we are free to define sex in different ways; we don’t all have to agree on one definition, and we couldn’t even if we tried. I look forward to a future where our definition of sex gets broader and broader, so it can include more people, more safely.

 

Heads up: this post was sponsored. As always, all writing and opinions are my own.

5 Kinky Ways to Use a Fleshlight

Kate Sloan

If I had my way, I would buy a Fleshlight for every dick-possessing person I ever date. I can’t definitively say that they’re the best strokers on the market, seeing as I don’t have a penis and wouldn’t be able to exhaustively test the whole field even if I did, but they’re definitely the best-known brand making this type of product. They’ve done a lot, in and of themselves, to both destigmatize the idea of men masturbating and make masturbation more pleasurable for folks with penises, and that’s worth celebrating.

However, you know me – I’m a pervert. So here is a list of ways you can use your Fleshlight to do some very kinky shit.

 

Forced orgasm play

The term “forced orgasm” is often used about people with vulvas, but dicks can certainly be “forced” to come, too, whether you prefer to call this process “cock-milking” or some other colorful phrase of your choosing. There are certain attachments and tools that enable a Fleshlight to stroke up and down all on its own (see this Fleshlight Launch review for one example) but you can also just do it manually, ideally to a partner who is tied down or otherwise immobilized and cannot fight the onslaught of pleasure you’re giving them. 😈

 

Cum-eating

Avert your eyes if you’ve got a sensitive stomach… Eating cum – whether it’s your own or that of a partner – is a biiiig fetish for many people. Sometimes it’s linked to humiliation, since consuming bodily fluids can be “degrading” if you choose to view it as such, but sometimes it’s just framed as an act of worship: slurping down someone’s semen sure demonstrates how much you revere that person and what comes out of them! You may be able to scoop or pour the cum out of your Fleshlight if it’s fresh, or you could mix it with a little water to make it easier to, um, imbibe.

 

Oral sex practice

Do you have a fantasy about being so submissive that you’re not allowed to come before you’ve satisfied your partner? You don’t actually have to have a partner present to act out some form of this scenario. Some Fleshlights are made to look hyper-realistic on the outside (check out this review of the available Fleshlight Girls sleeves to see what I mean), so you can lick and suck your imagined partner’s bits to your heart’s content before you allow yourself to use the toy in the more conventional way.

 

Exhibitionism & voyeurism

Fleshlight makes a line of translucent-bordering-on-transparent products which I, for one, find highly tantalizing to watch in action. You get to see the cock therein as it gets harder and perhaps comes inside the toy – yum. Whether you’re watching your partner jerk off or just enjoying the sight of your own anatomy and arousal, this might just be the best show in town!

 

Rewards & punishments

If you’re into chastity play, maybe your partner could keep your Fleshlight under lock and key so you only get to use it when you’ve earned an orgasm by enduring a certain amount of abstinence. Or maybe, on the flipside, it could be an erotically humiliating punishment to “have to” use a Fleshlight to get off if your dominant partner won’t deign to offer up their own orifices. Either offer could be plenty motivating!

Even the purchasing of a stroker itself can be a reward in the context of a kink scene (or, if you wanna be extra creative, a punishment). For instance, my partner and I once had a long-running “scene” of sorts, in which they could eventually earn the right to buy themselves a very pricey sex toy by completing a bunch of tasks in several different categories. These encompassed everything from self-care (e.g. get a manicure, learn a new makeup technique from a YouTube tutorial) to financial or moral tasks (e.g. donate money to a particular political organization, make calls on behalf of a progressive political campaign to help sway an important vote) to service-oriented tasks (e.g. update my website, send me dinner) to more directly sexual tasks (e.g. make me come 5 times). You can look through a website that sells Fleshlights together, such as JOUJOU Adult Toys, and gently tease them about how you’re planning on using the toy when it finally arrives… which will make it all the more sweet and exciting when the stroker finally shows up on your doorstep, ready to be co-opted for all your various nefarious plans and schemes. [insert evil dom laugh here]

 

Do you ever use strokers in kinky ways? How so?

 

This post was sponsored by MySexToyGuide.com – check out their guide on how to find the best Fleshlight! – and also contains an additional sponsored link. As always, all writing and opinions are my own.

The Sometimes-Blurry Line Between Content Creators and Fans

Kate Sloan

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

Let’s Normalize Lube in Sexual Media!

Kate Sloan

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

How to Do Solo Foreplay

Kate Sloan

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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