There is such a thing as too many sex toys. I have lived it. One of the main reasons my sex toy reviews have slowed down in the last couple of years is because I am so overwhelmed by how many personal massagers occupy my living space. Perspective: the toys I am sent for review make up about a quarter of my actual collection. Once upon a time I felt like the Scrooge McDuck diving into a pile of sex toys, but now I feel as if I am drowning of them.
So…what becomes of the toys that I don’t review? Well, some of them I use. Some of them I think I’m going to use so I keep them for five years and never do anything with them. But I’ve decided to finally give them an opportunity to see the light of day in the most exciting event I could come up with: a drunken montage. It’s a long one, but I hope it will give you giggles.
I was a gay man, entering a new land. A land of lower rent, less competition, and a reasonable amount of success in the sack. I had many allies before I arrived, but few who could assist me with that last basic human need. So I did what most gay men would do under this circumstance, or under any circumstance, really: I signed on to a handful of internet-based man-connectors. Some of which I was already active on, some I was rejoining, and some were brand new.
No, that’s a lie. None of them were brand new. I’ve been on all of them.
Before moving to this new land, I had reason to believe that I might be highly sought after by other gentlemen. I fondly recall a day, long before I even considered living here, when I was strolling through a park in Jamaica Plain and saw a charming cyclist nearly crash his bike into a tree because he was checking me out. It was a moment that I will cherish forever.
My first home, during my one month in Salem, had little to offer in the way of dudes. But Salem is a small town, and being a city boy through and through, I knew better than to get attached anyway.
I soon moved to an outer neighborhood of Boston, and certainly, the resources were more plentiful, but interested parties were equally rare. I found employment in a notably gay neighborhood in Boston proper, which I expected would be a homoerotic goldmine. Yet again, no such luck. Nonetheless, I continued to dig, and every now and then, I would find something shiny and appealing, But 19 times out of 20, it would slip through my fingers and disappear back into the pile. Or it would flee in disgust upon learning that my stomach was presently unchiseled.
One year later, I still spend a borderline-unhealthy amount of time each day, attempting to make connections on these various websites and applications, while I can count on one hand the number of men who I have actually met in that time, and on one finger how many I’ve actually become intimate with. My self-worth has plummeted to an all-time low, and my body image has taken up residency in the gutter. I have spent more money and time on fashion and fitness than I ever have in my life, and yet I cannot think of a time when I have felt less attractive. And I am a person who gets paid to take his clothes off on stage.
I have accepted the fact that these pastimes make me miserable, so I have, for the umpteenth time in my life, begun deactivating these accounts one by one. One or two remain, with the likelihood that they too shall go, but I need to build my own sexual safety net before I pull the plug… an alternative outlet to slake The Thirst™.
Unfortunately, in a town so puritan as Boston, I don’t foresee finding sexual partners becoming any easier any time soon. It is clear that queers are not in short supply, but I’d like to believe that the majority have found other ways to connect, and simply have not yet invited me to join the club. (Sure. Fine. Be that way.) Until that, or something similar, happens, I’m seeking out ways to satisfy my own needs, rather than spending hours staring at my phone waiting for a stranger to decide that I am worth his time. I know that I am, but experiences have shown me that gay men do not always have the healthiest of priorities. (#guilty)
So…what do I do when the thirst is strong and satisfaction is nowhere in sight?
– First, of course…snag a selfie, because in times like this, moments where I feel comfortable in my skin are too rare, and ought to be captured, as reminders if nothing else.
– Take matters into my own hands sooner. In other words: don’t wait too long to jack off. Some days I wake up, feel in the mood and have all the time in the world, and end up wasting my whole day waiting for some guy finally tell me he’s down for a lay. It’s terrible for my self-esteem, and dammit, I have shit to do. Don’t cruise for more than an hour, maximum.
– On a related note: Don’t hold off on making plans because something else might happen. If he wants the D that bad, he should have said something sooner. Self-respect and all that.
– Accidentally create a Snapchat group with all of the guys I already trade naughty selfies with, thinking they can only see what I’m sharing with them, but it’s actually a giant group message and everyone can see who else I sext with. Despite my embarrassment, they love it. And now I have a place to deposit dick pics whenever I like where they will almost certainly be applauded.
It is strange how one can become so attached to things like this…things that rarely bring feelings of happiness. Typically, addiction comes from something that makes one feel good, at least for a little while. So why am I so afraid to walk away from something that makes me feel like garbage? Sure, there was a time and a place when they did prove useful and occasionally satisfying, but I’ve dealt with the downside way too long to continue calling it a “dry spell”. I may not be what most of the guys in this city may be looking for, but I refuse to believe that I am not deserving of affection, however substantial (or not) it may be.
Sound off in the comments: What do you do to show love for yourself?
For the first time in years, I actually haven’t been dreading Valentine’s Day.
This is because I forgot it was happening.
I would say “Sorry if that makes me awful” but I won’t because I know it doesn’t make me awful. I worked in a sex shop for the last five Valentine’s Days in a row. That is the equivalent of the Christmas Rush™ in literally any other retail business. If you ask me, I deserve to forget about Valentine’s Day.
But none of us can ever truly forget, because capitalism. And now that I’ve been reminded, I must devise a plan to make the day a more bearable joyful experience for those of us who may be unattached. Because whether you are content or embittered by the relationship status (or lack thereof), the day tends to be genuinely unkind to us as a whole.
Dress up for no reason. We all deserve to feel positively banging. Some might suggest that single folk such as us ought to take ourselves on a date for Valentine’s Day. Why not aim higher? Why not treat the entire day like it’s a date with yourself? And the first thing we all think about when we go on a date is, of course, “what am I going to wear?!” Pick out a favorite outfit of yours, take a selfie for good measure (if you feel so inclined), and find that extra skip in your step.
Show people who are important to you that you care about them.
I don’t mean this in an “International Tell-Your-Crush Day” kinda way. It doesn’t even have to be overt. Any sort of subtle (or not-so-subtle) gesture that shows someone you’re thinking about them. A friendly text message about something you share in common. A hug. A comment on a social media post. A sexy photo sent to a consenting party. One of the ways I show a couple of my friends that I’m thinking about them, and know they’re thinking about me, is by playing Words With Friends constantly. It’s the little things.
Do something nice for yourself.
Originally I was going to say “Buy something nice for yourself” but then I checked my privilege, because I know not all of us have the means. Believe me, I have been there. But I think that we all deserve to be spoiled on February 14th, and sometimes that means we have to spoil ourselves. This might involve purchasing something that makes you feel fabulous, or it could be watching your favorite movie (the kind that makes you feel good, not a ‘woe is me’ kinda romance flick.), or cooking yourself a nice meal. I’m a disaster in the kitchen but I understand many people take pleasure in this.
Remember: there are so many different kinds of love in the world. This is one that I need to remind myself of constantly. Sometimes the absence of a romantic partner can make us feel unreasonably insignificant. It’s truly twisted how so many of us have fallen for this societal scam, but it says very little about who we are in the grand scheme of things. There are so many people in our lives who care about us in completely different ways for completely different reasons, and they are no less meaningful in our lives than any significant other might be.
I’m not actually referring to masturbation here, but if that’s what you want to do, you know I ain’t gonna stop you. My point is, do whatever makes you feel good. If not of the things I listed above would bring you happiness, then tell me to fuck off and choose something that you would find more satisfying. Holidays should bring happiness to everyone, not just a fraction of the population. If a holiday is going to claim to be a celebration of love, it needs to honor everyone’s right to love and to be loved, or it is a sham.
And I know what you’re thinking… “But Valentine’s Day IS a sham.” I’m not going to argue with you. But if we must endure it, we might as well get some warm fuzzies out of it. And hella chocolate.
Are you a Grindr user? Do you get asked the same questions by literally everyone you talk to? Are your thumbs aching from typing out the same damn responses to the same damn questions day after day?
Well, let me share with you my newest invention… Grindr flash cards! So perfectly pre-meditated that the boys will think you’re psychic, when in reality, you’re just over this shit!
A reasonable question, I won’t deny. Best to clear this up before getting too excited about anybody. There’s also the alternative of…
And then there’s this classic…
That said, sometimes people forget you’re a living breathing creature with feelings and self-worth.
And don’t you love when they think they can win you over with nothing but a dick pic?
Perhaps you get some questions or comments that are a little more…personal?
I have yet to put these to actual use, but if I don’t see any increase in originality within the range of conversation in the near future, I may just crap and slip on my sassy pants. Few will find it cute, I’m sure, but I expect it would be vastly entertaining.
What would you add to the pile? Sound off in the comments!
I was born a feminist. I was raised a feminist. And will remain a feminist for the remainder of my existence.
It’s funny, though… To me, “born a feminist” sounds redundant. Literally no person on this planet would exist without the power of a woman. We all owe women our lives, and yet so many of us, women included, are opposed to the idea of them having equal rights.
To this I say: What the actual fuck?
This shit predates my life by a long shot, and I still am unable to wrap my head around how any person can find it acceptable to deny an entire gender control over their body. How does someone like this sleep at night? How can someone pay a woman a fraction of what they would pay a man, and stand to look at themselves in a mirror?
These are not questions I feel like I should have to ask. These are not causes I feel like I should have to fight for. But I will, to the best of my ability and for as long as I have to.
Trouble is… I don’t always feel that helpful. When I see a guy crudely ogle a women on the street, or hear him say something lewd or disrespectful, I don’t feel empowered to intervene, as I feel the gesture will most likely result in injury, on my part.
But what I can do…is march. And you best believe I did.
Last Saturday, while protests peacefully raged across all seven continents, I joined a small army of Boston burlesque’s finest (and friends!) at Boston Common and we added our sparkly voices to the 175,000 others in attendance. This is a frightening time…to be a woman, to be queer, to be an artist… and while it was that fear, and that anger, that brought us together, we also had a really great time being there. The people that were there (Not just women, of course. Men, boys, girls, non-binary folk… People of all the genders and body parts) brought their wit and joy along with their fear and rage, and manifested an environment that was not only empowering, but enjoyable to be in. And I firmly believe that if your protest creates that kind of community, you’re doing it damn right.
The fight is only beginning, and there is no telling how long it will go on for. And while I wish we didn’t have to fight… if this is what the first battle looks like, it will be an honor (and a blast) to fight alongside each and every one of you. And I hope you will help me learn how I can help you the most.