Six Things I Wish My Parents Had Told Me About Sex

Today’s 30 Days of D/s is all about being parents while being kinky. I’m stumped here, to be honest. I am lifelong childfree by choice. I made this decision at twenty and I’ve never wavered for even a moment.

For this one, I nearly wrote a post on why I choose not to be a parent. “My writing career is more important to me and I like freedom to go where I want, sleep until noon and fuck whenever I feel like it” would be a pretty short post, though. (But, um, there you go. That’s my answer.) So instead I thought I’d share with you a few things I wish my parents had told me about sex, in the hopes that it maybe helps some of the kinky parents among my readers.

To be abundantly clear: I have AMAZING parents. I love them to death and they’ve always loved and supported me unconditionally, even when they didn’t agree with my choices. We didn’t really talk much about sex in our house. When I was about fifteen and started going out with boys, I got the “don’t do it until you’re ready and not until you’re 16” talk. Which, to be fair, is solid advice. It’s also tremendously limited.

Here’s some knowledge I wish had been imparted to me when I was growing up. I wish this stuff got taught in sex ed, but that’s not going to happen any time soon. As it is, I think parents really need to be the ones to give their kids accurate information.

Girls desire sex just as much as boys

Seriously, why did NO-ONE tell me this? It wasn’t mentioned at home, and all I got at school was “boys want sex, girls should say no”. Not even a second of airtime for “sex is great and it’s totally normal for ANYONE to want it!”

Everyone masturbates

I knew boys masturbated by the time I was 11 or 12. But I had no idea it was a thing girls did too until I read about it in a magazine. (Though, for some reason, it was framed as “a thing girls sometimes do it the shower.”) I have literally never wanked in the shower in my life. I thought I was weird for doing it, then I thought I was weird for doing it in bed.

Most people watch porn, regardless of gender

I found some porn on my boyfriend’s computer when I was 15. I confided in my mum because I was so freaked out. Much respect to her, she basically said “did it involve children or animals? No? Then you’re good, it’s normal, all men do it”. While this is basically true (#notALLmen, obviously) I wish someone had told me that loads of women watch porn and read erotica and that’s normal too. When I discovered internet smut (FictionPress was my gateway drug, check it out, there’s some damn good porn on there if you look for it,) I felt like a freak.

It’s important to feel comfortable, but it doesn’t matter if the first person you have sex with isn’t the love of your life

I justified having sex when I was a teenager by telling myself, well, we’re not married yet but I’m obviously going to marry him! (I have no idea where I got the “wait until marriage” value from, as my parents certainly didn’t preach this and we didn’t go to church). What I was told, though, was to make sure I loved the first person I had sex with. Which is fine advice in so far as it goes, (uh, kind of – doing it casually is fine too as long as it’s freely chosen)! But I took this to mean I had to be absolutely sure he was the one and only person I would ever fuck.

If you’re doing hand-sex and oral sex, you ARE having sex

Can everyone please start teaching teenagers that “sex” is not synonymous with “P in V”? Seriously? I got so hung up on we’re not having SEX until I’m legal (we did it on my 16th birthday, FYI) that I didn’t realise I’d already been having actual, real, honest-to-Goddess sex for over a year.

If you’re having sex, you should expect and demand pleasure

I didn’t realise for ages that sex was a thing people did for mutual pleasure. All the toxic messaging from school had me convinced it was a thing girls put up with in order to make boys stay in relationships with them. I wish I’d been told that sex was as much for my pleasure as his. I wish I’d been told that my pleasure mattered -and that I should expect my lover to care about it as much as he did his own.

What do YOU wish you’d been taught about sex?

Kinky item of the day: feather ticklers! I’m all about sensation play. These can also be used for tickle-torture play if you’re into that.

Heads up: this post contains affiliate links.

Origin Story

It’s #KinkMonth at Lovehoney this month, so to celebrate I am doing posts inspired by Kayla Lords’ 30 Days of D/s and also taking the opportunity to share a favourite kinky product or item each day.

Today, the prompt is all about submission. Kayla and John ask:

Does a submissive have certain behaviors? Do submissives do specific tasks? When you think of a submissive and submission, what thoughts come to mind?

So, with this in mind, I thought I’d tell you all about my origin story, or the collection of moments that led to my realisation that I’m (primarily) sexually submissive.

(Fair warning: I’m going to talk about my early experiences a bit, some of which happened before I was 18 and some of which took place in abusive dynamics. I invite you to take care of yourself and only carry on if you feel you can cope with this today.)

I was sixteen[1] the first time a boyfriend held me down and spanked me. In our baby-kinkster, toe-in-the-water fashion, we were doing schoolgirl/teacher roleplay, and the spanking didn’t hurt. It was very gentle, but I didn’t want pain-pain. Not then. It was the idea of the spanking rather than the physical sensation that I wanted. But I got the hell off on the power dynamic, the feeling of being helpless, the feeling of being led along and not having to do anything except what I was told.

We played those power games more and more often in our sex life over the next few years. I tried to be the Dominant, the Mistress, the Teacher once or twice, but it usually ended up with us in fits of giggles and no orgasms.

By eighteen, we’d mostly moved away from explicit roles and further into simply hard, dominant fucking, laced with tinges of humiliation and a whole lot of filthy talk. We occasionally tried to have stare-into-each-other’s-eyes-and-make-sweet-love-by-candlelight sex. And you know what happened when we did that? I was bored. Didn’t come. Didn’t feel fulfilled. What I wanted was for him to just throw me down on the bed and fuck me until I knew I’d be sore the next day.

At nineteen, we went to an event, a glorious weekend where we were shocked and delighted to discover there were others like us. It was a THING. It had a NAME.

BDSM. The letters felt weird in my mouth. Kink. That was better. I could get behind the idea of calling myself kinky. It spoke to me in the same way the word “queer” had, even before I knew what it really meant. It spoke of something different, of something outside and other and exciting.

I learned glorious things that weekend. I learned about fetishes and perversions and fun that I didn’t know existed. Someone pulled out a knife in the toybag show-and-tell, and I at once winced and leaned forward in my seat, asking, “what do you do with that?” I learned what a pinwheel is. I saw a flogger for the first time. A little while later, I felt its sting across my back in the bedroom of the pretty, much older Dominant guy and his beautiful girlfriend [2]. In that little room, I learned how much pleasure can come from just the right amount of pain.

We went home. We bought a crop and a collar. A few months later, we went to our first Club, where I got my breasts out in semi-public for the first time. I wanted more and more and more. Not necessarily more extreme, but more exploration. More adventure. More of this.

Until he didn’t want it any more. It was too much effort. He just wanted me to shut up and let him fuck me until he was satisfied. It had all been a mistake. My kinks were too much, too complex, and too weird.

I told him I respected that, but I needed to fulfill my kinky needs in my other relationships. He told me I was broken. Wrong. Damaged goods, if I needed someone to spank me and call me filthy names to get true sexual satisfaction.

I nearly believed it, but I knew better by that time. I knew what I was. It had a name.

Kinky. Submissive. Yes. In submission, I found – find – peace. A home. A place of complete belonging and safety.

Kinky item of the day: LUBE! Essential for those long, glorious fucking sessions.

[1] Age of consent in my country is 16.
[2] Hello, Fondlebeast and Twistergirl! <3

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My First Sex Toys

This was supposed to be a quick one, written on Sunday while waiting for Mr CK to get ready for our favourite twice-yearly kink event. But it ended up getting long, then I ended up getting busy, so here it is several days late.

Thought it would be fun to share with you the first five sex toys I ever owned, what I think of them with the knowledge I have now… and what I might recommend instead.

Toy #1: Tracey Cox Supersex Bullet Vibrator

The Supersex Bullet vibe, for a post about my first five sex toysAt 18 and having just moved into my own place with a boyfriend, I rushed to buy my first Actual Sex Toy, to replace the trusty electric toothbruth I’d been using until that point. Having very little money and no clue what to buy, I went for a cheap and cheerful bullet vibe. At the time, it was fine. I wasn’t quite the power queen I am today, and the toy was small enough that it didn’t threaten my boyfriend’s fragile masculinity.

Would I recommend it? Meh. I wouldn’t say “don’t go anywhere near”. It’s cheap, was pretty reliable (lasted damn near five years before it finally died as I recall,) and being made of hard plastic it’s body safe and easy to clean. But it’s also single-speed and the vibes were kinda buzzy and weak. But as a first toy, to establish that vibrating sensations were something I enjoyed, well… meet my gateway drug.

Buy this instead: We-Vibe Tango (reviewed by me here) or Lovehoney Desire Luxury Bullet are both highly recommended, very popular and body-safe bullet vibes. The Tango is slightly stronger and rumblier. The Desire is softer if hard plastic feels too harsh for your sensitive areas. Choose according to your preferences.

Toy #2: Some vile jelly monstrosity from Ann Summers

Emboldened by my new-found sexual bravery, or so I thought (LOL, 19 year old Amy was adorable) I dragged my boyfriend into Ann Summers on my 19th birthday trip to London to buy myself a new toy. Too intimidated to ask for help, I ended up with a purple jelly-rubber toy with pathetically weak vibrations. I don’t think I used it more than 3 times. I can’t find the exact model on their site any more, but this isn’t a million miles away.

Would I recommend it? FUCK NO. Please don’t buy anything made of jelly rubber, it’s toxic and porous and really, really bad for your body. Also, Ann Summers are trash – they normalise toxic products, they cater to a cishet male-gaze version of sexuality, and they operate a deeply predatory MLM arm. Try Lovehoney, SheVibe or your local women-owned sex shop instead.

Buy this instead: If you’re after an affordable, simple G-spot stimulator, try the Luxe Purity by Blush or the Annabelle Knight G-spot vibrator.

Toy #3: Icicles No.5 Sapphire Spiral Glass Dildo

Icicles Number 5 dildo, for a post on my first five sex toysThis was an impulse buy at the BBB – they were just so pretty I couldn’t resist, and I’d never tried a glass toy before. On first use I wasn’t sure I liked it. Glass is colder and more rigid than anything I’d previously used. Once I’d got used to the sensation, though, I found that using it very gently (think “insert and just barely wiggle it,” no hard thrusting here) gave me the most glorious G-spot orgasms. Alas this particular toy met its end when a clumsy photographer dropped it but I’ve been in love with glass toys ever since.

Would I recommend it? I recommend glass dildos heartily. HOWEVER…

…Note, added on 22/10/2017: Icicles are owned by Pipedream, who I have come to learn are kinda fucking terrible. If you don’t want to support them (and I urge you to think seriously before you do,) Lovehoney’s own brand glass toys are at least equal in quality and value.

Toy #4: Doc Johnson Junior Veined Double Ended Dildo

I won this one in a raffle at a Simply Pleasure open evening event. It amused me more than anything, and at 22 I was still bashful enough to shove it in my bag with a blush and hope I didn’t have an accident on my cycle home. I tried it exactly once with my girlfriend, before it went to languish, forgotten, at the bottom of a box until I threw it out some three years later.

Would I recommend it? No. It smelled weird (think “new car” meets “latex” only more chemically). The texture was sticky and gross, sure signs of a questionable and potentially toxic material. It’s described on the website as “body safe” but Doc Johnson products have been found in lab tests to contain phthalates, and their “sil-a-gel” additive seems to be a mystery material of their own invention. In other words, this toy – and many of Doc Johnson’s other products – are mainly PVC and therefore porous as fuck and toxic.

Buy this instead: For a body-safe double-ended dildo, try the Dorcel Real Double Do.  If you’re looking for a “strapless strap on” experience, the Feeldoe is a classic for a reason.

Toy #5: Off-Brand “Magic Wand” Knockoff

I bought a cheap (ish) poor knock-off of the Original Magic Wand before I realised they’re not sold in the UK. Unfortunately, fakes abound and many of them are egregiously labelled as the real thing. It gave me some good orgasms for a few months but ultimately, got less and less powerful with each use until it completely gave up and died after perhaps 6-9 months.

Would I recommend it? Absolutely not. Buying knock-offs means it is almost impossible to get accurate information available on the toy’s material. They’re almost certainly not body-safe (and may not even be properly safe electrically, come to that.) The quality of most fakes is shocking and they tend to break quickly.

Buy this instead: The Magic Wand Rechargeable, or my all-time favourite, the Doxy Massager.

This post contains affiliate links and if you buy from one of them, I may make a small commission. This will never affect my views on the products, which are and will always be my own.