This is a confession of sorts but also a cry for help. I think about myself in reference to kink and sex and realize that I associate submission and service with being feminine. I associate beauty, weakness, and delicacy with being feminine. And I also realize that I am so terrified of being seen as anything other than feminine that I put up some strange defenses against this.

Case study A: Ariel

Ariel is my gorgeous girlfriend. She is beautiful and petite and has long flowing hair. She moves gracefully on high heels. She also has a powerful job in a male-dominated industry and changes car batteries and asserts herself aggressively in conversations. She looks high femme but has always thought of herself as butch. Still, when I touch her I sometimes feel huge, ham-fisted, rough, and all-together ugly. I know she longs for me and I fail her because I don’t know how to be. On the one hand, strapping on a pretty dildo and fucking her for hours sounds like pure bliss but I know that getting to that point will be full of second-guessing myself and my desires and my actions.

Am I being entirely heterosexist in my view of this sexual relationship? Abso-fucking-lutely! Because she is feminine, I feel masculine. (We won’t even get into the terrible fact that I associate masculinity [on myself!] with ugliness) I don’t want to feel this way. It isn’t enlightened, it isn’t sex positive. I wouldn’t teach it to my students. But it infects my reality and I don’t know how to deprogram it.

Case study B: Michael

[Note: This section has been edited for nuance. The lack it previously exhibited, though, is likely symptomatic of my issues with binary thinking.]

Michael is a petite man. We are the same height and I outweigh him significantly. When we first met I didn’t think the relationship would work because of this. I thought I would feel huge and be self-conscious and afraid. So I submitted myself to him. He felt like he was capable of being in charge and I let him be. Even if I couldn’t be delicate and small by comparison physically, I knew I could shrink myself mentally. It works out well that he has discovered enjoyment of beating me until I cry, pulling my hair, grabbing my throat. (Again we won’t get into how fucked up it is that my way of feeling feminine involves simulated victimization) Even when I am initiating sex with him, it feels like an act of service and devotion. He often gives me feedback on how to touch and where and when. I siddle up to him and slither a limb around his body. I kiss gently. The touches are a seduction and they are a worship and only in my most wanton and least self-conscious moments do I allow myself to be aggressive and take up space.

Taking up space

I haven’t really defined what this means to me just yet. You may have guessed some of it by now, though. I think of it in terms of physical space – my body is larger and I attempt to diminish that regularly. I also think of it terms of political space – my voice should be smaller, my needs should be less important, my desires should be locked away.

This might seem ridiculous to some of you that have met me or read this blog. Of course I take up space in terms of talking about sex. Here I am now with this presence on the internet. Blabbing, opining, discussing in detail, issuing edicts and judgments and ideas. But some of that strength leaves me when I’m making love to some of the people I adore most in the world.

I know that every relationship goes through growing pains and these are no exception, but this issue feels bigger and scarier and more about me being fucked in the head than any I have run into before. So, dear reader, tell me what you think. How do I get my theory to line up with my practice? How do I deschool myself of gender? How do I embrace femininity in a way that doesn’t make me need to masculinize others? How have you done it or how do you wish you could?

Trying Universal Lube for the first time was a terrifying experience. I wasn’t worried about what it might do to my body. I basically trusted that VibeReview would never send me anything dangerous and that it would be a passable lube. But I was scared to death about what it might do to my silicone toys.

Traditional wisdom dictates that you do not use silicone lubes with silicone sex toys. The fact that they are made of similar materials triggers a reaction and can allow the lube to break down the materials in your precious silicone toys. So, even though silicone lubes can be awesome and a lot of people prefer them, most of us keep water-based lubes around for sex toy use.

But, Universal Lube is different. The name really says it all. It is a silicone lube that is designed to be safe with sex toys. I was a bit scared the first time I squirted it onto one of my favorite silicone dongs but I am happy to report that the toy came out unscathed.

Now that we’ve established that it didn’t fuck up my toys, how does it work as a lube? Pretty well, I think. It is thicker than most silicone lubes I’ve tried so that means that it stays in place. In general, this class of lube is more slippery than slick so you feel the lubrication in a more pure sense instead of just wetness. Depending on the situation, I love this because it preserves a lot more of the friction of sex while maintaining a safe and comfortable level of movement and lubrication.

I was also really please that the bottle is a generous size, inviting me to slather on as much as I felt like while I was playing. Many silicone lubes are incredibly pricey so this seemed like a great value.

If you like the feel of silicone lubes but get nervous about using them because they negate the use of your favorite toys, then Universal Lube is a must to try. You’ll find that it may become one of your go-to lubes because it will keep your options open in terms of toy choices and can be easily layered with water-based lubes to create new sensations.

Having been friends for so long, I didn’t think much of it when Sarah called me up and told me that her parents couldn’t use their play tickets that weekend and asked if I wanted to go see the show with her. She was a theater geek and for years I had gone to her productions, carrying bundles of carnations for her and our other friends in the play.

She had a car and I didn’t so she picked me up that night. Somewhere around the time that we were finding our seats in the theater, it occurred to me that I was on a date. Sarah and I had hung out plenty of times so it took me awhile to figure out what made this different. As I was sliding into the row of seats, she had put her hand on the small of my back. Gently and quickly. It was an imperceptible gesture, but in that moment it meant something. I spent a lot of the play thinking about what this was and how I felt about it. I also carefully convinced myself that I was being silly and that it meant nothing.

At this point I hadn’t received romantic attention from much of anyone. At least not that I noticed. I had always been very focused on obsessive crushes with gay men or the emotionally unavailable. If anyone else wanted to date me in high school, I was oblivious.

And here was Sarah. We had been in the Gay-Straight Alliance together (some of the founding members). I knew that she was bisexual and had an on and off very messy relationship with another actress (that had moved away for college the year before). She had perked up with interest when I told her that I thought I was bisexual as well but I wasn’t sure. She and I sat together in Statistics and had a conversation one day about the Kinsey scale. I don’t remember where I placed myself during that conversation but it must have garnered her attention.

After the play and coffee and clove cigarettes (we were such cliches!) we started to head back to my family’s apartment. But half way there she declared that she wasn’t tired and asked if I wanted to drive around a little longer and talk. Despite how obvious this situation was, I was still just along for the ride. So unconfident in my body and sexuality that I didn’t think this was anything other than a night between friends. We drove and we talked.

Then she brought up that Kinsey scale. She told me about her experiences with the actress – the emotional roller coaster. Then it was my turn. What were my experiences? None. Some kisses during spin-the-bottle and a bit of hand-holding and cuddling with the various boys who would always be my best friends but didn’t want to ruin our friendship with something romantic. I told her this and she seemed surprised. Perhaps then, like today, I seemed more sexually confident than I really was.

Then she asked me. If I hadn’t really been properly kissed did I want to do it with her? My mind raced and, planner that I was, my first gut instinct was that she couldn’t possibly mean right now. I blurted out the dumbest possible question: “When?”

She just looked at me and pulled over the car.

So there we were. December in Milwaukee and the car is idling and I am shaking like a leaf. She said lots of things in the intervening moments. About how I didn’t have to and she wasn’t trying to pressure me. I think she needed me to express desire but all I could muster was terror.

Then she took my hand. She started slowly caressing my palm with her fingertips and nails. Rubbing my flesh in hers like a piece of clay. I was silent except for my tiny gasps for breath. I tried to focus all of the terror into my hand and let Sarah take it away, mash it in her soft fingers until it was nothing.

She lifted my arm and placed her soft, full lips against my palm. I sighed and felt a familiar excitement surge within me. She kept kissing my hand and caressing my wrist and arm. Teasing me with the promise of what her touch could be. I was on fire and I was still terrified.

We were silent through this process. 10 minutes? 15? I don’t really know. Finally she spoke again and asked me to turn towards her. I had been resolutely staring out the windshield or clamping my eyes shut. Anything not to cope with the enormity of this moment and my shame and desperate anxiety.

I turned to her and whimpered a bit. She asked if I was okay. She asked if she could kiss me.

I probably looked like I was either about to burst into tears or into flames. I don’t think it mattered to Sarah at that moment. My slight nod and forced smile was all she needed. She leaned toward me and my heart raced again.

And then, it just was. She was kissing me, I was kissing back. It fell into place with little deliberate or considered action on my part. Her hands in my hair and on my shoulders. My hand resting on the thigh of her jeans. Tasting her and the coffee and cloves and lipgloss that defined who she was and what she materially meant to me in that moment. Again, I don’t know how long it went on. 10 minutes? 15? There was no progression. No clothes removed. Just kissing. It was enough, it was my education in desire and pleasure at someone else’s hands. And it came as a crash course. It was what I wanted and needed but I didn’t know that yet.

The drive home was less awkward than you would think. I had been opened now and talked a lot. Sarah and I went 2 years without speaking of that night again. To her it was probably not significant. To me it was much too significant. And now, when I think of who I am and how I feel about first kisses, I’m always still that barely 18-year-old girl trembling, terrified, and unsure.

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The first strap-on harness I ever bought was pink and sparkly. It also didn’t fit very well. So, as pretty as it was, I knew I needed a new one. And I knew it had to be gorgeous and femme. I was so lucky to find the Corsette Harness.

The Corsette is a complete package. I was so impressed with the items that came with it in the box. First of all, it features a vibrator pocket and comes with a small bullet vibe complete with batteries. Second, because the Corsette is a lot like a piece of lingerie, it comes with garters to attach your prettiest stockings to. Finally, it is equipped with three different sizes of O-rings so no matter what sort of toy you choose to slide into it, it will work like a charm.

This harness comes in both black and purple and I chose the purple model. The fabric is a beautiful, rich velvet with a wonderful texture. It feels great against my skin and wonderful to the touch. I spent a long time in the mirror evaluating the shape of my ass and the way the straps cut against my curves. At the risk of sounding like a narcissist, I look hot in this thing and I was excited to try it out with a partner.

Actual use will thrusting is the test of any harness and The Corsette stood up like a champ. The straps on it go under the legs as well as around the waist and it can be tightened down and adjusted very intuitively using three different buckles. I find that I’m able to get into it and have it secure and ready to go in a matter of minutes.

I tried it out first with Jay and later the next week with Carmine. Both times I used the lovely Charmer and both times I had a ton of fun! The vibrator pocket lines up perfectly, the harness stayed secure no matter how serious the thrusting got and both gentlemen were enthusiastic about the performance.

Overall, I’m impressed with the look, feel, and performance of this harness. My old one never felt quite sturdy enough to really get down to business with and so I rarely used it. Now, I think I’ll find many more occasions to strap one on and have some fun.

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