travel

Salacious Sightseeing & Titillating Tourism

Kate Sloan

I’ve been lucky enough to travel quite a bit in my time. My parents did a lot of work-related travel when I was a kid (crisis management sojourns to foreign countries for my dad, press junkets in New York and Los Angeles for my mom), which instilled in me the sense that travel was freedom, adventure, excitement. They would always bring back presents from their far-flung visits – and now, when I travel, I sometimes bring back presents for them! Ah, the circle of (#jetsetter) life.

Today I want to talk about 5 sexy attractions or date spots I’ve been to in 5 excellent cities. There are more exotic sexual locales – you could, for example, visit the Red Light District in Amsterdam, get the best escorts for all tastes in Melbourne, or go hang out with horny moms on the Twilight tour in Italy – but these are some I’ve personally enjoyed. Check ’em out if you’re ever in the neighborhood!

Kink Shoppe (Philadelphia)

I secretly think most of the best sex shops have a heavy focus on kink. It’s not that “vanilla” sex toys aren’t important – they are – but I find that if a shop is run and frequented by kinksters, it tends to have a better and more thought-out selection of products, both kinky and not. After all, kinksters do love to be overanalytical and nerdy about their sex lives! Kink Shoppe in Philly is no exception: it has a wide array of toys ranging from mild (cute vibrators, colorful dildos) to wild (ball crushers, gas masks). My partner bought a pair of vampire gloves there and they have served us well! P.S. If you want dessert after your sex-shop date, walk a block west to the Franklin Fountain for ice cream. Yummm.

Drink (Boston)

This is supposedly the #1 cocktail bar in Boston and I believe it. The bartenders are brilliant and worth the wait. (There was about a 45-minute-long line when my partner and I went; we played Scrabble on my phone and people-watched while we waited.) They have no cocktail menu, so you just tell them what kinds of things you like and dislike in a drink and they’ll make you something great. And then, if you’re me, you go back to your hotel and do a watersports scene. *shrug*

Spartacus (Portland)

This is maybe the best sex shop I’ve ever been to, and I don’t say that lightly! I’d heard of the Spartacus brand of sex products before, but didn’t know they had an actual retail location – and OMG, it is amazing. You could easily spend a good 2-3 hours picking through the massive selection of stuff. My partner and I walked out with a bottle of Sliquid lube and a pair of scandalous fishnet underwear, but honestly, there were like 12 other things I could’ve bought. Plus the cashier didn’t unnecessarily gender us. Score.

Onoir (Montreal)

Some relationship psychology theorists say an easy way to “rekindle the spark” is to do something new and/or scary together. Roller coasters and horror movies are the commonly cited examples, but I don’t like jump-scares or loop-de-loops… Onoir served a similar function when my partner and I went there, though! It’s a fine dining experience in a completely dark room, where you’re led around and waited on by blind servers. It’ll certainly make you think differently about food, and maybe about your beau, too!

Museum of Sex (New York)

Periodically a friend of mine will go on vacation to New York and will message me to ask if I think the Museum of Sex is worth a visit. It really depends on what the current exhibitions are – I’ve seen some pretty good ones and some pretty boring ones – but for the most part, I’d say if you’re a sex nerd visiting NYC, you should check it out. The lobby is a sex shop stocked by someone who clearly knows what they’re doing, so you can cap off your visit by buying a luxury thruster, CBD lube, or a vintage copy of Playboy. Ideal.

 

What are your favorite sexy or date-y spots you’ve visited on your travels?

 

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

How to Make a Long-Distance Goodbye Easier

Kate Sloan

You know how they say “sadness is the price we pay for love”? I’ve never felt that more strongly than in a long-distance relationship.

Saying goodbye to a local partner is NBD; you know you’ll be seeing them next Tuesday anyway, and that if an emotional emergency before then necessitated their presence, you could just swing by their place. But goodbyes with long-distance partners can be heavy: you’ll soon be once again unable to touch and kiss this person you love to touch and kiss, and you may not even know when that gap will be closed again. There’s no way around it: it sucks.

This melancholy interaction may be inevitable, but there are things you can do to avoid falling into a pit of despair every time. I say this as a woman who, nine months ago, broke down in tears on the floor while clutching my partner’s leg because I so desperately didn’t want them to leave: things need not always be this dramatic! Here are some habits I’ve picked up that have made these long-distance farewells easier to handle…

Stay in the moment. It’s very easy, the day that one of you’ll be headed back home, to spend all day long fretting and crying about how sad it is that you have to part ways. But that’s a trap, and it robs you of the thing you’ll miss most once they go: quality time with your beloved. Try to stay focused on your partner right up until you have to start dealing with travel logistics – it’ll be easier to let them go if you know you made every moment count.

Sort out your travel well in advance. Nothing kills the good vibes at the end of a long-distance date faster than freaking out about last-minute travel mishaps. Plan your route to the airport, bus station, etc. during a calm moment so you won’t have to do it during a sad, scary one. Check in for your flight on your phone so you don’t have to rush. Make sure you know where your passport is. The more of this stuff you get out of the way earlier, the longer you can enjoy your sweetheart’s company for.

Reminisce on the highlights of your date. My partner and I do this as part of a ritualized “debrief” at the end of each of our dates. We go back and forth listing our favorite things we did together on that visit, both sexual and non-sexual. It lets us process those experiences together while lifting our moods and getting us excited about things we want to do again sometime. This is one way we try to leave our dates on a happy note.

Plan your next date. This isn’t always possible, because travel is a fickle mistress (not to mention expensive), but if you can figure out when you might next see each other, it helps. Life might well throw a wrench into your plans, but at least it’ll give you something to look forward to in the meantime.

Exchange tokens of affection. Temporarily losing your physical connection with your partner is really hard; exchanging physical gifts of some kind can help mitigate that feeling of lack and loss. You could lend them a T-shirt that smells like you, or leave them a bruise on their ass as a badge of honor; they could give you a stuffed animal to cuddle, or write “Remember I love you” on your arm. There are a lot of ways to leave a little piece of yourself with someone so they feel like you’re still there even when you go.

Say goodbye alone and in a quiet place, if possible. I learned, after one particularly painful goodbye in a New York City subway station, that farewells in loud, public areas make me feel disconnected and unresolved. I need concentrated time with my partner right before our paths diverge. This could be as elaborate as an intimate last-hurrah date in the corner booth of a fancy restaurant, or as simple as sleuthing out a quiet alcove in the train station for one last heart-to-heart before “all aboard.” You’ll feel better if your last few minutes together feel just as connective and intimate as the high points of your date.

Reflect and process. You’ve already discussed your date with your beau; now it’s time to sit with all those feelings on your own. Journaling on my homebound plane ride is always my favorite way to do this – I’ll write about the best parts of the date, any questions or worries it left me with, and how it all felt. This process helps me transition back into my “real life.”

Be gentle with yourself. It is totally okay – normal, even – if you feel sad for a few hours or days after bidding your love adieu. Try not to beat yourself up if it takes you some time to “get back to normal” emotionally. I often find that this type of sadness comes with a bodily sluggishness that makes it harder for me to accomplish anything once it sinks in that we’re apart again, so I try not to schedule anything rigorous or anxiety-provoking within the first 12 hours of my arrival home, if not more. It’s an act of self-love to observe your own patterns in this way and set boundaries or make adjustments accordingly.

Stay in touch. Like a kink scene, a long-distance date shouldn’t end with you just disappearing – there’s gotta be aftercare! Try to be available to your partner for texting, emails, phone calls, or your other conversational medium(s) of choice – maybe even more available than usual. Both of you might still be feeling pretty mushy-hearted, and there might be more to talk about and process. Plus, of course, knowing you can still talk to someone easily can make it a lot easier to stomach their physical absence.

Notice what works and doesn’t work for you, and adjust. If you have some goodbyes that particularly suck, or some that are unusually easy, it’s worth discussing together: what factors contributed to this outcome, and how can we adapt our future approach with this new knowledge in mind? All the above tips are practices my partner and I have come to after many, many months of trying different strategies and talking about our feelings. It’s half-trial and error, half-scientific method. It can’t erase our pain entirely, but it offers us a toolbox for managing that pain.

How have you handled goodbyes in long-distance relationships? Got any tips (or warnings)?

Review: Le Wand Petite

Kate Sloan

When I emailed Pleasure Delights a list of toys I’d like to review, I secretly hoped they’d send me the Le Wand Petite. I’m always looking for a good mini-wand these days, now that I’m in a long-distance relationship and have a lot of sex in far-flung hotels. I don’t always want to schlep my Magic Wand Rechargeable across national borders or through TSA – so I’ve been looking for a smaller wand whose size doesn’t preclude it from serving up strong vibrations.

I wasn’t thrilled with the only other Le Wand product I’ve tried, their regular-size wand, because it was 1) too loud, 2) too buzzy, and 3) too obviously a complete Magic Wand ripoff, down to the identical button shape and same charger. But my friend JoEllen loves her Le Wands and I trust her taste, so I decided to give this brand another shot.

It helps that the Le Wand Petite is very, very pretty. Pleasure Delights sent me the rose gold one, and it gives me the same femme joy I reluctantly suppressed when I opted against getting a rose gold iPhone. Le Wand founder Alicia Sinclair set out to make wands more elegant and feminine-looking than the bulky, androgynous Magic Wand and its ilk, and I think she achieved that goal. Of course, that means that masc-of-center folks might not resonate with the Le Wand Petite’s aesthetic, especially since the only other color option is a luminous purple.

So what’s the deal with this rechargeable dynamo? It’s about two-thirds the length and half the width of a standard wand vibe, so if you want something small enough to throw in your carry-on, this could well be it. It even has a travel lock function, since they’re obviously trying to work the “jetsetter-approved” angle (I feel directly pandered to and it’s great). It’s very light for a wand, at only 0.47 lbs (versus the 1.3-lb MWR), which adds to its travel-friendliness and also makes it a more workable solution for people with strength/mobility issues (my chronically achy hands thank you, Le Wand). It even comes in its own little zip-up case, which is big enough to fit the wand, its charging cable, and another toy or two (I’ve been stashing my Fucking Sculptures Pussywillow in there when I stay away from home overnight). If you want a wand to accompany you on adventures, this is one of the best I’ve found for that purpose, along with the mechanically flawed Doxy #3 and the awkwardly shaped Jimmyjane Iconic Wand.

One of the major selling points of the whole Le Wand line is the flexibility of each toy’s neck, but I’ve always thought this was kind of an overrated feature. If someone is pressing a vibe firmly enough against their body to make the toy’s neck bend, probably that person likes pressure – and a flexible neck just lessens the toy’s ability to provide that pressure. But if you’re into that, for whatever reason, this toy’s got it.

The body-safe silicone head is smooth to the touch, but unfortunately it can’t be screwed off for cleaning, the way the top of the Doxy #3 can. The Le Wand Petite isn’t waterproof, so you have to be careful when you clean it – which I need to do often because this particular silicone formulation is an absolute lint magnet.

There are a lot of features of this wand that I enjoy, but ay, here’s the rub… While the toy’s marketing copy repeatedly asserts that its many patterns and speeds are “rumbly,” rumbly it is not. Its rumbliest speed is its lowest one, which can make me come on a very sensitive day, but it becomes progressively buzzier as you crank up the power. Due to the numbing effects of buzzy vibrations, sometimes turning up the Le Wand can make it feel like I’m actually turning it down, as the sensation slowly drains out of my genitals. This wand accompanied me on a sexy weekend in New York, and several times, I found myself grabbing the rumblier Tango mid-session instead, because… I can’t get off if I can’t feel my bits, y’know?

Granted, my threshold for acceptably rumbly vibrations is pretty high, seeing as my fave vibes are the MWR, Tango, and Eroscillator, all thrumming powerhouses. I think the average person would be plenty happy with the Le Wand Petite if it otherwise fit their specifications. But if you’ve ever gotten annoyed with a vibrator for making you numb, it’s likely you need something rumblier than this toy. I would suggest the aforementioned Doxy #3 and Iconic Wand, as well as the reportedly rumbly Inspire wand. You deserve orgasms you can actually feel.

Oh, and if you’re curious about the noise level – since that was one of my major complaints about the original Le Wand – this one is definitely audible from across a room, but not nearly as loud as its predecessor, and also quieter than the two highest settings on the MWR. So I’ve got no beef with it on that front.

I’m sure I’ll still reach for the Le Wand Petite from time to time; it’s stronger than most vibrators of its size, and I like how it looks and feels in my hand. But it’s not the ideal travel companion I hoped it’d be; when I’m out of my element especially, I want something reliably rumbly, not a toy I have to eke a tricky orgasm out of. I hope Le Wand will keep listening to customer feedback and making better products, because if this toy’s motor got a makeover, I’d be in love!

 

Thanks to Pleasure Delights for sending me this toy to review! This post was sponsored, and as always, all writing and opinions are my own.

12 Days of Girly Juice 2018: 7 Bangin’ Selfies

Kate Sloan

Today’s 12 Days of Girly Juice post highlights the 7 selfies I took this year that really tell the story of my 2018, which was… a difficult call, to say the least. Also, yeesh, it was hard not to make these just 7 great pictures of me with my boyfriend, BUT I REFRAINED. (Partially.) Enjoy…

I spent many, many hours on the phone with my Sir this year. If we conservatively guesstimate 2.5 hours a night, every night – keeping in mind that most of our phone calls last about 4 hours, but we skip nights here and there – that adds up to over 900 hours on the phone. But, as I reasoned to myself every time I wondered if this is excessive: if we weren’t a long-distance couple, it’s likely we would have spent at least that many hours together over the course of the year. So. Maybe it’s slightly less ridiculous viewed through that lens.

In any case, this is a photo I took while on the phone with Matt, and it captures a joy I rarely manage to depict in my selfies. I’m relaxed, I’m subby, I’m collared, I’m little, and I’m talking to someone I love. Last year’s selfies roundup also included a gleeful moment on the phone; I guess long, intimate, giggly calls with beaux have brought out some of my happiest times in the past year. And I’m fine with that. Some naysayers criticize technology for encouraging social detachment and isolation, but for me this year, technology – like FaceTime and Apple Calendar and Google Docs – served mostly to make me feel closer to my loved ones, not further away from them. Any technology that brings forth a smile this gleeful can’t be all bad.

The most important aesthetic decision I made this year was getting a new tattoo. Big, beautiful flowers framed by a bold, unmissable message. Shout-outs once again to Tender Ghost for the original idea and to Laura Blaney for bringing my vision to life in her signature gorgeous style; I’m happy with this beaut every time I look at it.

I took lots of selfies in the days and weeks after getting this image inked on me. Like all the best tattoos, it helped me feel more connected to my appearance, like I had more of a stake in it and more control over it. Even on days when I otherwise felt unattractive, seeing this art on my arm made me feel like I was, myself, a work of art. So I took selfie after selfie, showing myself – proving to myself – just how deeply pretty I really am.

Another moment of unadulterated glee. We snapped this on a sunny day in July, during one of Matt’s many visits to me in Toronto. We had just done an impromptu hypno scene in a nearby parkette, hence the mutual post-kink glow. I love looking for hints of our D/s dynamic in photos of us: the shyness of my submissive smile, the “watchful proud daddy” vibes in his face and his posture.

Also notable: our matching outfits. A mantra in our relationship is “We match”; I like to say it when one or the other of us is worried that our feelings are excessive, unprecedented. If one of us is feeling “too” in love and panicking about it, or missing the other “too” much and feeling guilty about it, it’s helpful to be reminded that we’re almost always on the same page, feelings-wise. We love each other a lot. We have no chill. We match. It’s for this reason that Matt started choosing coordinating ensembles for us when possible, and I love it. Especially when we’re both in blue, because, well… we have a history with that color.

It’s impossible to write about my 2018 without writing about travel, since I did so much of it – and it’s impossible for me to write about travel without complaining about it, because travel stresses me the fuck out. (Extremely #FirstWorldProblems, I am well aware.)

This is one of those photos taken automatically by a machine in the customs area of an airport – “Remove your hat and sunglasses; look at the camera; we are now taking your picture” – and, while they’re never very flattering, this one takes the cake. I had never before seen a photo of me that so perfectly captures how I feel about traveling.

It’s strange that someone with so many airport-related anxieties, someone prone to fainting on buses and crying on trains, would end up in a long-distance relationship. But maybe it’s actually perfect. Maybe being reunited once again with my beloved is one of the only things capable of pushing me through those fears to the other side.

That said, I definitely prefer when he comes to visit me and I can just meet him in the arrivals area and then go home. There are, after all, no TSA agents or grumpy entitled men or bureaucratic nightmares in my home – and there is a comfy bed where I get to kiss my boyfriend and don’t even have to show anyone my passport in order to be admitted.

This photo was taken impulsively during a jaunt to a local sex shop with a few other sex-blogger babes, just after the Playground Conference here in Toronto. I was, and am, stunned that this career and this community have enabled me to make friends from literally all around the world: the ladies pictured here come from areas as wide-reaching as Hamilton, New England, and (wait for it) FINLAND. Amazing!

When I was a baby sex nerd reading erotica anthologies in my childhood bedroom and illicitly listening to sex podcasts in math class, I never dreamed that one day my sex-nerdiness would lead me not only to an incredible career but also to friendships that cross national borders and lift me up every day. What a beautiful life I’ve carved out for myself, and what wonderful people I’ve found to share it with.

No post like this would be complete without a selfie taken with Bex, my best friend. We didn’t take many this year, but hopefully that just means we’ll take more next year.

This smiley selfie was snapped at a sexual science symposium. (I like alliteration!) We got together with my ex-sugar daddy and his wife – quite an odd crew, to say the least – and went to this big gorgeous science center in New York to chat with dildo-makers, sexual psychologists, strap-on experts, and more.

When this photo was taken, Bex and I were extremely high from some pre-event tokin’ and smokin’. It was around Valentine’s Day so the whole joint was littered with little heart-shaped candies, which we kept munching because weed. With Bex giggling next to me, asking the speakers pertinent questions, and occasionally producing candy from their jacket pocket to appease me, I knew that he was truly the best friend I need and deserve.

I’ll close on another happy note. Matt took this picture of us in our hotel bathroom on our first night at the Woodhull Sexual Freedom Summit – one of the first events we’d ever attended together as a couple, and the first time I was introducing him to many of my friends in the blogging community. I’m visibly proud to be at an industry event, representing my business and my brand, with someone I love so much.

And once again, we match. Blue and pink: my blog-branding colors, my two favorite colors, and also two of the bi pride colors (we’re both queerdos!). Someone noticed our coordinating outfits, and asked Matt, gesturing at his shirt, “Did you do that on purpose?” He smiled a proud-daddy smile and replied, “Of course.” I felt as brightly happy as the pink flowers bursting open on my dress.

Come Fly With Me: 5 Travel-Sex Stories

Kate Sloan
A rumpled morning-after bed at the Wythe Hotel in Brooklyn.

I truly felt like a jetsetter the first time I sexted in a TSA line.

Leaving New York felt impossibly sad, in no small part because of the cute boy I’d just met there – but my bleary travel day was brightened by the salacious selfie I suddenly received from him as I traversed that long, slow line.

“HEEELLLPPP,” I replied immediately, my eyes sweeping over his hairy chest, blue eyes, and full pink lips. “911? Yes, sorry, I received a very fire selfie and my heart exploded. What do I do?”

Without missing a beat, he wrote back: “Yes, this is emergency services. Deep breaths, and don’t take your eyes off it. Your heart will repair itself in a few minutes once it adjusts.”

I giggled maniacally at my screen, blushed hard, tried to collect myself. “I’m in a TSA line,” I explained, “and the people around me 100% must think I’m an idiot right now.”

“Welp,” he replied, “sorry if I set off any alarms.”

“Yeah, I’m probably gonna end up on the no-fly list because of all the stars in my eyes,” I mused. “Those seem hazardous.”

I watched the undulating ellipsis as he typed, until his next words appeared: “Guess you’d be stuck in New York then…” Oh, what a tragedy that would be.

After dropping my friend Mia off at her swanky Airbnb post-drankz one night.

The sluttiest night of my life was the time I accidentally booked two sex-dates for one night. It was purely a scheduling error, not intentional at all – but fortunately, both dudes were amenable to the situation.

Dude #1 was my dommy fuckbuddy at the time. I dropped by his place for an early-evening fuck around 6PM. Wanting to try something new, I’d packed some Kegel balls to insert pre-spanking. A far cry away from traditional vibrators, these jiggly little balls vibrate your bits from the inside out every time you get hit, and they don’t even have a motor. It’s a neat trick, and it went over smashingly.

After that date was done, I rushed home and showered for my next one. Dude #2, a Twitter crush visiting from out of town, picked me up and drove us to my favorite pub. Midway through a giggly, tipsy dinner, I texted my dom from earlier, “Should I fuck this guy? I can’t decide.” He weighed the options carefully, taking the decision seriously, and eventually decreed that yes, I should return to this bro’s hotel with him. It turned my dom on, he said, to imagine me fucking someone else just hours after fucking him. (Dude #2, I should say, knew about this whole exchange and was on board.)

Hours upon hours of hotel-sex and fitful sleep later, I got up at 5AM to head out to my 6AM dayjob. As I walked down the creaky old hotel hallway, I heard a creepy clicking sound that seemed to follow me. When I stopped, it stopped; when I continued walking, it started up again. I looked behind me, ahead of me, and around me, but there was no one. My heart froze in my throat.

And then I realized it was the Kegel balls in my coat pocket, clacking together like a taunting soundtrack for my walk of shame. Whoops.

Dressed up at the Holiday Inn Toronto Downtown Centre.

At Woodhull 2016, a fellow blogger held a gathering in her hotel room. She offered up her collection of reject dildos for us to choose from. What an absolute saint.

I knew what I wanted as soon as I saw it. Unlike vibrators that are inspired by nature, this one was inspired by the utterly unsubtle dick of a fantasy creature. It was a behemoth of a dildo, in my blog’s branding colors: pink and blue. I thanked Luna, its original owner, and then cradled it under one arm as I walked down the hall and got on the elevator to take my prize back to my room.

The thing about conferences held at hotels, though, is that there are always guests who aren’t part of the conference, and you have to contend with them. I’d learned this when I took the elevator down in a loud vulva-print dress the day before – and I learned it again, as I endured an uncomfortable elevator ride with two suit-clad blushing businessmen and one giant dildo in plain sight.

I prayed for time to pass more quickly, and wished I’d brought a bigger purse. And as soon as I stepped off the elevator on my floor, I burst into humiliated giggles. What a trip.

At a hotel somewhere in Chicago.

Pros of using Hotwire to find a hotel room: it’s easy, allows for impulsive sex getaways, and is, above all, cheap.

Cons of using Hotwire to find a hotel room: you have no idea, really, what kind of hotel you’ll end up in until it’s already booked. And that’s scary. Sometimes in a sexy way. Sometimes not so much.

My first anal sex experience took place at the Knights Inn, a low-budget hideaway in Toronto’s infamously rough Regent Park neighborhood. The inn itself was sketchy and mildly unsettling, like a scene from The Shining if the film had gone a little tattered and yellow at the edges.

My valiant fuckbuddy knew what a momentous occasion this was, and how much preparation should go into it. He spent long minutes relaxing me, making me giggle, turning me on. And though he is vanilla as fuck, one way he attempted to rev my engine was by spanking me.

The trouble was, the walls were paper-thin. We could hear a cadre of frat boys getting drunk and rowdy in the next room, and though I considered this par for the course, my FWB was spooked. I could feel him backing off the spanking again and again, terrified of making noise, even though the guys on the other side of the wall were being louder than we would be all night.

My handsome friend bunched the thin hotel-bed sheets in his palms and draped them over my upturned ass, as if that would muffle the sound. He experimented with punching instead of slapping. He fretted and overanalyzed and adjusted and readjusted. Finally, enough was enough, and I told him – laughingly, lovingly – to stop.

Hotel sex is supposed to be an escape, but sometimes you still can’t escape your own inhibitions. It’s okay. There are always other things you can do.

Naked and incredulous at the Standard.

The first time I banged my Sir, we were staying at the Standard High Line in New York, one of the most beautiful hotels I’d ever stayed in. I was so nervous I could hardly walk in a straight line.

As we checked in, the clerk asked, “Are you sensitive to noise? This room is right underneath a nightclub, so it can get loud.” It wasn’t an issue. We had no intention of sleeping, and we planned to be pretty loud ourselves. Not that we told the clerk any of that.

My beau pressed the wrong elevator button twice before he got his shit together and hit the right one. He was nervous. It was cute. I was smitten.

I had packed a slew of sex toys, anything and everything I thought we’d need: impact toys, fancy glass dildos, travel-friendly vibrators, cuffs, a blindfold, a book we both loved (which is indeed a sex toy, depending on how you look at it). At his command, I laid it all out for him to look at, arranged it carefully like an Instagram flat-lay, because I wanted him to be impressed.

He must have been impressed, because as soon as I was done, he bolted toward me and pushed me against the floor-to-ceiling plate-glass window looking out on the city. His kisses were fierce and hot and immediate. I knew what was coming and I knew I would be taken care of. I will never forget the way he looked at me, so tenderly and searchingly, as he removed my clothes for the first time – and the way that cold, cold glass felt against my back as my heart pounded in my chest.

Hotel sex can be many things, but it is almost never boring. I can tell you that much.

 

This post was sponsored by THE LILY by Fleurotics. (They’re running a crowdfunding campaign currently that you should get in on!) As always, all writing and opinions are my own.