Sometimes, readers of this blog will send me emails that say, “Have you ever written about [x intimate subject]? I searched your blog and could only find minor references to [x sexual experience], nothing in-depth!”
And I will then have to say, “Yes, that information is paywalled on purpose, because it’s just too juicy for public consumption. Here’s the link.”
The truth is, while you might think that blogging about my sex life for 13+ years would have made me more open, I’ve actually learned a lot over the years about what not to share publicly – either because it’s too controversial and I don’t want to get into pedantic arguments over it, or because it’s so personal that I don’t want certain people in my life to read it, or because it’s simply so juicy that I’d feel psychologically exposed if it was freely available online. Writing your heart out is a skillset, and part of that skillset is knowing when to hold back!
With that in mind, I thought I’d give you a little preview of the juiciest, most personal, raw, and low-key embarrassing pieces I’ve written for my paid newsletter so far this year. When you sign up for just $5/month, you instantly get access to all of these pieces, plus the hundreds of other past essays behind that paywall. It’s a great way to support my work so I can keep doing it – because, as you might have noticed, the U.S. government and payment processors are currently hellbent on making it more and more difficult for queer, kinky, and sex-positive creators to earn a living from their work. I really might have to pack it in and get a boring vanilla job one of these days (!!), if things continue going as they are – so I deeply appreciate any and all financial support my readers generously offer, as it literally enables me to continue writing. Thank you! 🙏
7. The world is on fire – DM your crush
In which I tell you how & why I started flirting with a cute movie nerd from Twitter, and what happened next:
Perhaps the pandemic had put me in a learned-helplessness state of mind, where life felt like it was happening ‘to’ me – like life was an unruly ship teetering on the roiling seas, and I couldn’t get a grip on the steering wheel.
But there are certain things I can still control. Like whether I send a DM to a cute boy.
And so I did… and DMing turned to texting, which turned to watching movies together, just as my silly-sweet fantasies had prophesied – albeit online, and not on a sofa, since we don’t live in the same country. It feels cozy in its own way: we chat and flirt and commiserate about the world, we’re working our way through the Hitchcock filmography week by week, and my friends will often ask me “How are things going with your Movieboy?” which always makes me smile.
6. Why do I fantasize about dorky virgins sometimes?
In which I judge myself for jerking off to fantasies that, in some ways, match the status quo:
I don’t even necessarily think there’s anything wrong with fantasizing about virgins, no matter what gender you are… but the problem is that fantasies can sometimes inform our real-life behaviors and attitudes in harmful ways, especially when those fantasies align with destructive myths and narratives that exist in the real world. We need to be self-aware about our fantasies and what they reinforce in our minds, and we don’t need to fetishize all the same things that the larger culture fetishizes; in fact, it can be wildly illuminating to deeply probe the places where your own desires diverge from “normative” ones.
And that’s part of what I find so compelling about my own virgin fantasies: they buck cultural trends with a bit o’ gender-swapping. A male virgin reads quite differently, culturally speaking, than a female one; I wish gendered inequalities didn’t exist, but they certainly lend some interesting complexity to sexual fantasies at times!
5. What happens when a sex toy reviewer can’t get horny?
In which I share all the tips ‘n’ tricks I’ve learned about forcing myself to get turned on, even when I don’t feel like it, because my job requires it:
Sure, I could review a sex toy from an unaroused state – but would you want to read a restaurant review written by someone who’d eaten a full meal before going into the joint they were meant to review? Probably not, because the reviewer wouldn’t be physically or mentally equipped at that time (in all likelihood) to give the restaurant a fair shake. Likewise, I need to be sufficiently aroused when I test sex toys; otherwise I just feel like my genitals are being poked and prodded, and that experience would make for a pretty boring and useless review.
So needless to say, my uncharacteristically low libido made it troublesome that I was contractually on the hook to fuck three dildos this week. As a result, those testing sessions were some of the most difficult I’ve ever had – which, let’s face it, it’s masturbating in my own comfy bed, so even at rock-bottom, it’s hardly a gruelling day at the office (or in the mines)! But nonetheless, it was a comedy of errors from start to finish…
4. A weepy girl’s guide to recovering from rejection
In which I process my feelings about being rejected by an improv crush – and, simultaneously, offer advice I’ve learned from the many times I’ve been rejected:
Step 3: Remember it’s not personal.
Here’s a paradox for ya: You shouldn’t take it personally when someone isn’t attracted to you, because attraction is so personal.
I know that’s confusing, so I’ll explain what I mean. The patterns of human attraction are a swirling mystery, even to people who study them professionally. The qualities which attract us to (or repel us from) potential partners can be influenced by our past and our present, our exes and our ones-who-got-away, our insecurities and neuroses, our mood and mindset, where we are in our hormonal cycle, and infinite other factors. And furthermore, there’s not a whole lot we can do to change what we are and are not attracted to. If you’ve ever met someone who seemed great “on paper” but just didn’t spark anything in you, then you know exactly how frustrating this can be – and how futile it is to “force it”!
When someone rejects us, we often hear it as “Eww, absolutely not, you’re gross!” – especially since sometimes people are assholes and do literally say stuff like that! – but the truth is, their rejection is a statement about their own attractions, and not about your attractiveness, both of which are entirely subjective. As Dita Von Teese says, “You can be the ripest, juiciest peach in the world, and there’s still going to be somebody who hates peaches.”
3. Love addiction, Tinder compulsion, & sitting with the feelings
In which I tell you about the closest I ever got to being a ‘love addict,’ what that felt like, and how I got out of it:
Just as compulsive lottery-ticket purchasers will envision all the houses and yachts and Rolexes they could buy with their winnings, I would fantasize endlessly about this hypothetical person: what they would be like, how we would treat each other, the places we would go and things we would do together. These fantasies looped in my mind during many a boring journalism-school lecture; headline math and defamation law could never hold my attention quite like the promise of a sparklier, happier life.
Because that was ultimately the purpose of all this swiping and all this fantasizing: it was a mad search for happiness. I believed, deep in my bones, that there was a person out there who was perfect for me, and that I would be able to find them if I only tried hard enough. I believed that finding the right love would fix my entire life in one fell swoop: relieve my ceaseless anxiety and depression, brighten my days, turn the volume down on all my problems until I couldn’t hear them over the din of devotion. I believed, in essence, that an ideal partner would come along someday – maybe even someday soon! – and save me from everything, including from myself.
2. Can a people-pleaser ever feel entitled to pleasure?
In which my experience hooking up with someone from the /r/RandomActsOfMuffDive subreddit (a.k.a. RAoMD) triggered my people-pleaser issues like whoa:
I was punctual, but he was already there when I arrived, sipping a drink at the bar. He’d chosen the spot. A decade ago, I might’ve said, “Oh, anywhere’s fine!” but since this entire saga is an exercise in self-actualization, I decided to practice asserting a desire, and requested that he choose a place where I could get a dirty gin martini. It was wild to feel my people-pleaser impulses roar to life at even such a mild provocation. He’s going to think you’re too high-maintenance, that old voice insisted. He’s going to think you’re a spoiled princess. (Never mind that many RAoMD posts specifically seek a “pillow princess”…)
He didn’t think that, evidently. Or maybe he did and it turned him on, I don’t know. But in any case, I claimed the barstool next to his, went in for a handshake-not-a-hug for some reason, and ordered my customary martini. He threw down a credit card to pay for it immediately, and I gritted my teeth to fight the impulse to reach for my own wallet, while the people-pleaser voice in my head continued shouting, What kind of self-important brat makes a man pay for her drink when she doesn’t even intend to sleep with him at the end of the night? (Did I mention that my inner people-pleaser is also hella misogynist? Thanks, society!)
1. When the pussy-eating doesn’t quite go as intended
In which the aforementioned Random Act of Muff Dive takes place, and I practice advocating for myself while a handsome man is faceplanted in my pussy:
I know the sex was good because my memories of it are hazy, dreamy. He spent at least an hour just kissing my neck and chest, biting and scratching my skin, pulling my hair, massaging my muscles, and melting me into a slurring mess. I got high on the endorphins, gasping and trembling with pleasure, lost in a sea of sensation. All the best sex I’ve ever had has been like this. And he hadn’t even taken my underwear off yet.
I’d like to be able to tell you that when he did, everything continued to be awesome – but there was a bit of a snag. I had been so thoroughly reduced to mush that I wasn’t able to give feedback on technique in the moment, and his approach to pussy-eating was laser-focused on my clit: direct, intense, and pinpointed. While I know there are many vulva-owners who like nothing better than to have their clit’s bare tip flicked and sucked, I’ve never been able to handle such an onslaught. My clit needs to be gently romanced, through the clitoral hood and inner labia. It’s not at all uncommon for new partners to require some direction before they can go down on me the way I like – and, had this man not demolished my mind with pleasure by the time he reached my pussy, I probably would have been able to give such direction!
Thanks, as ever, for your readership and your support, no matter what form it takes! I appreciate you and I’m glad you’re here. I hope that I’m able to keep doing this work for a long time. 💙