There are soooo many myths about sex toys that I wish would just die, from the idea of them being "addictive," to the assumption that only awkward losers use them. (Both laughably false! I mean, hell, celebrities like Lady Gaga, Christina Aguilera and Chappell Roan have been open about using sex toys... Do you really think they're awkward losers?! Not to mention, even us awkward losers deserve pleasure!)

Another such myth, which I loathe, is that you should only use sex toys if you "need" them. Most recently I saw this raised in a Reddit thread about men using sex toys, and whether it is (or should be) more stigmatized than women using them. A woman was uncomfortable with her husband's new vibrating stroker, and tried to rationalize her reaction by saying that men don't "need" toys as much as women do, because men are more easily sexually satisfied than women – and that, for this reason, men using sex toys is somehow "weirder" than women using them.

It's certainly true that cis men's sexuality is often assumed to be simpler and more straightforward than cis women's sexuality in our culture, but the science doesn't totally back up that assumption. As I learned from Dr. Laurie Mintz's great book Becoming Cliterate, studies show that most cis women tend to reach orgasm without much trouble, so long as they're getting adequate, sustained clitoral stimulation – the same way that most cis men need adequate, sustained penile stimulation to reach orgasm. The clit and dick are effectively the same body part, after all; they just developed differently in utero. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, and all that!

As I told the woman on Reddit who felt threatened by her husband's stroker, there's a reason they're called sex toys – it's because they exist for the purpose of fun and pleasure. There are occasional deviations from this – for instance, some sadomasochistic toys are more painful than pleasurable (although their diehard users may tell you otherwise), and some medical aids like vaginal dilators and penis pumps get lumped into the sex toys category even though their usage may not always be 'fun,' per se. But broadly speaking, sex toys are meant to be enjoyable tools for exploration and experimentation, like paintbrushes or musical instruments. Seen through that lens, it's obvious that you don't have to "need" a sex toy to be allowed to use one.

Unprecedented times call for unprecedented measures. We’re seeing that all around us right now: protests spilling through streets, unionization efforts, grassroots healthcare initiatives. When times are especially bad, you have to do more things that are especially good in order to counteract that.

The same is true in our romantic and sexual lives, too. We must throw our cards on the table more brazenly and boldly than ever before – at least, if our goal is to continue to forge and deepen our connections to other human beings, at a time when human connection is more politically and personally important than ever.

But let me back up a sec, because this piece is actually about how I DMed a cute boy about a horror movie 5 months ago and now we talk every day.

I have spent a lot of these pandemic times daydreaming about intimacy but doing little to actually achieve it. (Maybe you can relate?) Outside of my safe and splendid relationship with my spouse, I’ve found it harder and harder to connect with people on a romantic or sexy level in recent years, for a tangled web of reasons, including COVID concerns, mental health struggles, and the lingering sting of past rejections. I’ve met a few cool people and been on a few nice dates, but mostly I’ve felt too tense and guarded to really let anybody in. My hopes for new romance receded into placid daydreams, which felt safer and more plausible than any real-life attempt to connect with someone new. Sad, but true!

I try not to be a polyamory evangelist, at least not anymore. At this point in human history, I figure anyone with an inkling of curiosity toward polyamory will have at least heard of it, so they can research it more deeply if they feel drawn to do so. You can’t “convince” someone to be poly just as you can’t “convince” someone to be gay, but you can model a healthy, happy life within this identity that might inspire others to seek the same if they desire it.

With that in mind, today I want to offer up some life lessons from the world of polyamory – not in the hopes of convincing you to “switch teams” if you’re currently monogs, but rather, with the intention of improving your relationship(s) regardless of how you prefer to structure ‘em. Here goes…

One person should not be your everything.

The farther away monogamy gets in my rearview mirror, the more clearly I can see that its philosophical foundations are absurd. It has never made sense for two people to have to fulfill all of each other’s needs. You know that old proverb about how it “takes a village” to raise a child? Well, children aren’t the only people who benefit from having wide-ranging social supports in their lives!

I’ve been trying to live in the moment more. It’s hard. But improv helps, and so does sex.

The other day in class, I was tasked with improvising a Hoedown about an aquarium. The first two lines formed in my head almost immediately once I heard the suggestion:

Why go on a date to a movie or a park,

When you could go someplace instead where you could see a shark?!

The other night, after my latest musical improv show, I was too exhausted to regale my spouse with the full details of my evening, although I wanted to. “I’ll tell you about it tomorrow, if that’s okay,” I said over the phone, through a yawn.

She understood completely, but asked me: “Can you just tell me how it felt, then?”

I smiled, because her penchant for asking great questions is one of the many reasons I married her. “It felt great,” I said. “I felt in control the whole time. I didn’t feel nervous at all. It was the best.”

And really, that’s what she needed to know, anyway. The details are fun, but they’re not the point. The feeling is the point.

Are you in therapy right now, and do you take notes during sessions? I was just re-reading some of my old therapy notes the other day, and felt deeply grateful to my past self for writing down all these insights when they were fresh. I come back to them time and time again, and they often take on new meanings for me as my life changes and grows.

Recently I stumbled across notes from a session where my therapist posed one of those really juicy therapy questions, a question so good it unlocked something in my brain. They’d asked me: What would it take for you to believe that [false belief] isn’t true?

While this bears some similarity to activities I’d done before in cognitive-behavioral therapy workbooks, most of my CBT experiences have been about gathering and affirming evidence that already exists against my harmful belief (e.g. looking at old texts where my partner says “I love you” when I’m feeling unloveable). But my therapist was doing something a bit different in this case: they were asking me to identify what type of evidence would definitively disprove my belief, and then seek out or create that exact evidence. 

I immediately liked this idea, because it felt so much more empowering than what I’d done with CBT practitioners before. I didn’t have to wait around for evidence to present itself. I could go make my own.

As you know if you’ve been reading this newsletter for a while, sometimes I get obsessed with things. Currently I am obsessed with Severance, the sci-fi/thriller/speculative-fiction TV show – because, among numerous other reasons, it makes me think more deeply about sexuality. All my favorite media does.

A brief rundown on the premise of Severance for those unfamiliar: it’s set in a world where a mega-corporation called Lumon has created something called the severance procedure. They implant a chip in your brain, which basically splits you into two selves: your work self, and your personal-life self. These two selves have no memory of each other, and no knowledge of the other one’s activities. When you go to work, your consciousness switches to your work self, referred to as an “innie,” and when you leave work, your consciousness switches back to your personal self, or your “outie.” This creates a situation where the innie is essentially trapped at work forever, since all of their experiences occur at work – while the outie has zero awareness of what they do at work all day, allowing Lumon to get up to some shady shit.

(If you haven’t seen Severance and don’t plan to, you can go ahead and skip this piece, because I think it’ll sound like unhinged gibberish to you and also it’s loooong, but thank you for being here! I appreciate you!)

Anyway, with that being said, sex was barely discussed in season 1 but is becoming more of a thing in season 2, and I’m (obviously) massively nerdy about sex, so I have lots of questions about how it functions in this universe. There are spoilers ahead for all the episodes currently released, so don’t read this yet if you’re not caught up and would like to be. Oh, and (content note:) I will be discussing some dubious-consent-y and non-consent-y stuff, as that is the nature of this show. Let’s dive in.

I’ve wanted to be somebody’s girlfriend before… but have I ever wanted to roleplay as somebody’s girlfriend? What would be the point of such a thing – and, perhaps even more pressingly, what would be the difference?

I pondered this when I saw a recent post on the /r/RandomActsOfMuffDive subreddit – a forum for finding no-strings-attached cunnilingus partners – where a man had specified that he was seeking a woman to whom he could offer “BFE”: the boyfriend experience.

BFE, and its counterpart GFE (the girlfriend experience), are terms commonly used to describe particular types of sex work sessions. Wikipedia describes these sessions as involving “reciprocal sexual pleasure and some degree of emotional intimacy.” The provider expends emotional labor to help the client feel that they are engaged in mutually desired, mutually enjoyable sex between two people of equal standing.

One wonders, then, what exactly an offer of BFE would entail in a non-monetary transaction. What would the “provider” – in this case, the thirsty man shouting into the Reddit void in search of munchable cunt – be getting out of such an interaction, if not money? 

It’s funny how a person can change your whole life with one sentence.

In 2007, I was at a meeting of my high school’s queer-straight alliance, and the author S. Bear Bergman was our guest speaker. In between readings of beautiful excerpts from his new book about gender, selfhood, and love, someone asked a question about compatibility in relationships. I don’t remember the exact question, but I remember Bear’s answer with startling clarity:

Thoughtfully, slowly, he said that in terms of a potential partner, “you want someone who’s similar enough to you to make you feel comfortable, but different enough from you to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.”

Similar enough, but different enough. Both.

I’ve heard a lot of hypothetical questions about clone-sex over the years. (Can you tell I’m friends with a lot of sex nerds?) Sometimes people will wonder if fucking your clone would be considered incest or masturbation. Sometimes we debate the consent ethics of clone-sex. Sometimes the question is just “Would you fuck your clone, if you could?” – to which my answer is always a resounding no, because I don’t find myself sexually attractive and wouldn’t be sexually compatible with myself. (It’s funny for a professional masturbator to say she’s not sexually compatible with herself, but hey, you know what I mean…)

That being said, when I do occasionally permit myself the indulgence/horror of picturing it, one other thing that worries me about sex with my hypothetical clone is that I might not be able to get her off.

See, imagine that I lay her down in my (our?) bed, and get her all turned on by watching the porn I (we) like, and talking dirty about the fantasies I’m (we’re) into, and then I start touching her clit in the exact ways that I know feel good for me (us), the ways I’ve practiced and honed over decades… and then it doesn’t work. What then?

It’s not as impossible as it may sound. Even setting aside the fact that a clone grown from birth would have her own set of preferences forged in the fire of life experience, what if she did like all the same things as me, and I still couldn’t get her off? What if, without the ability to directly feel what each touch feels like from moment to moment (as with masturbation), I couldn’t accurately read her body language and the ascent of her pleasure well enough to make her come? Oh god, the horror!!

One of my oldest and most strongly-held opinions, not to mention one of my most obnoxious opinions, is that everyone should take an improv class. Absolutely everyone. Yes, even if the very thought fills you with extreme confusion and/or terror. Perhaps especially if that’s the case – and perhaps especially in times of global chaos and tumult.

Many people who know me IRL will have heard me give this impassioned speech already, but I realized recently that I don’t think I’ve ever codified it into writing. So here, for your consideration, is my pitch for why you – YES, YOU! – should take a local improv class, at least once in your life. (The last reason on this list is the most important one, FYI…)

(Want to get an essay like this from me every week? Upgrading to a premium subscription costs $5/month and also gets you access to all the juicy paywalled essays in my archive. I don’t know how much longer sex media will be a viable career, but if you want me to be able to keep writing, supporting my work is the best way to help me do so!)

I had a super useful idea once, while I wasn’t feeling well. I don’t recall whether it was during a psychedelic trip or a hangover, but it was definitely one of the two.

Those are two pretty different mental states, as you may know if you’ve sampled both. But one thing they have in common (for me, anyway) is that your thoughts can guide your experiences while you’re in those states, even more than they do in everyday life.

When I’m on psychedelics, for instance, even just thinking about a cute, cuddly cat from my childhood can make me burst into tears, or can flood my body with happy chemicals that feel like the god-given message “Everything is going to be alright.” On the flipside, when I’m hungover, thinking about last night’s hamburger and fries for a second can send me racing to the bathroom to puke.

You can see, then, how either one of these two states – or perhaps both of them – could lead me to the idea that your thoughts are the roiling ocean beneath you, but they are also the ship you use to navigate that ocean. And if you want to find your way out of the storm and into safety, you have to know how to steer the ship.

Content note: This essay contains some discussion of daddy dom/little girl kink, and some minor spoilers for the movie Babygirl, which you don’t need to have seen before you read this (although if you like my writing, you’d probably dig it!).

Imagine you’re at a seedy biker bar, surrounded by surly old men with fistfuls of beer and smokes. They’re milling around, grumbling, drinking. Radiating the misery of repression, their bodies held stiff and strong as pillars of masculinity, load-bearing defense mechanisms keeping them upright.

Imagine the stuff flowing from the jukebox all night was fairly predictable – old-man country, classic dude-rock. And then imagine that someone pressed a few buttons and suddenly, a shiny, sparkly song came on that lit up your whole heart. My mind goes to Carly Rae Jepsen, but maybe yours conjures Chappell Roan, or Prince, or Beyoncé, or some obscure chiptune band you saw at an underground video games festival once… Whatever it is, imagine that the whole room goes still, struck by the oddity of what they’re listening to, its total wrongness in this environment. And then imagine that you lock eyes with the person standing at the jukebox, the person who wanted to hear this song as much as you needed to – and imagine how you would feel toward them, knowing that in this whole big scary room, you’re the only two people feeling what you’re feeling. The only two people feeling that specific shame, and that specific joy.

A reader asked: “What were your favorite new acquisitions in 2024? Purchases, gifts, etc.”

Oh, you have inquired about one of my favorite subjects: THINGS!! Items. Objects. Possessions. Love ‘em. I am a product of my time, unfortunately, and my time is consumerist as fuck.

That being said, a lot of these objects have tangibly improved my life in ways that go far beyond just “Ooh, pretty!” Let’s talk about ‘em.

Did you know: I send out an essay like this to my premium subscribers every week (actually it’s usually quite a bit more personal than this one!), and becoming a premium subscriber also gives you immediate access to all past essays, on topics like sex, love, kink, dating, creativity, trauma, tattoos, & more! It’s a great, cheap way ($5/month) to support my work so I can keep doing it, even as Trump and his cronies make it harder and harder for sexuality content to continue existing. Thanks, babes!

I’ve been thinking a lot about recommendations recently. Maybe it’s because over the holidays I hung out a lot with my mom and brother, who basically speak in movie/TV/music references. Maybe it’s because I have a crush on a cinephile right now who keeps seeming cuter to me with each stellar movie recommendation. Maybe it’s because the internet is somehow both worse and better at recommending things than it’s ever been, with soulless but mathematically-optimized algorithms pumping out “For You” feeds and “Discover Weekly” playlists, as good old-fashioned human art criticism and curation seem to die a slow, sad death.

I miss the old internet, I really do. Much of my early taste in music, for instance, was shaped by the MySpaces and music blogs of the early oughts. I loved that each recommendation had real weight to it, enough to overcome my natural Taurean hesitance to try new things. If a new song or album was recommended by somebody I thought was cool, that would often be the push I needed to seek it out, even if I’d otherwise resist it – and in some cases I’d end up loving it enough that it shaped my entire musical taste thereafter. And all because someone thought to tell me (or even just to write online), “Hey, I think you’d really like this.”

See, any old algorithm can recommend things that are similar to things you already like, or the things that are often liked by other people who like the things you like. And that’s certainly a valid and sometimes-useful way of seeking out new stuff. But a recommendation from a human is often based on something deeper, something a robot might find ineffable. A human (especially a perceptive one who knows you well) can make recommendations based on your emotions, your psychology, your longings, your fears – sometimes even the aspects you yourself are not fully aware of.

Even recommendations from public figures, who don’t know me at all, can hit me harder than anything in a Discover Weekly playlist – perhaps because I see these works of art as windows into a soul I wish I knew better, a soul I want to emulate. I view these pieces of art with an open-mindedness I’d otherwise never afford them, if I know they’re beloved by a writer I admire, or a musician I worship, or an actor I have the hots for.

I truly don’t know why it took me so long to figure out I was destined to become a journalist: I was raised by two journalists, I’ve always gotten good grades in English classes, and I often take notes during conversations. All pretty big clues, I’d say!

While I was always a note-taker, I really honed my skills in that area when I got to journalism school. For the entire first year of our program, we were not allowed to make recordings of our interviews, and instead had to just take notes (either handwritten or typed). This was meant to teach young journalists how to take good notes quickly, and while it was wildly annoying, it worked – I graduated nearly a decade ago but am still pretty good at summarizing key points of a conversation in hastily scribbled notes, and grabbing pull quotes verbatim as they come. It’s a useful skill to me constantly – so constantly that I don’t even understand how other people function without frequent note-taking!

I don’t take notes during every conversation, to be clear. I’m not pulling out my notebook when I chat with a barista or a shop clerk (unless they drop an intriguing movie recommendation). And I don’t typically take notes when talking to friends in-person, because some people find it rude or distracting.

Ever find yourself avoiding something, and you’re not really sure why? Yeah, that’s me with sex sometimes.

After all these years of writing and thinking about sex – and about my own sex life and sexuality, specifically – you would think I’d have enough self-awareness that this wouldn’t happen anymore. But once in a while, I do realize, all of a sudden, that I’ve been avoiding sex or masturbation lately – and that I haven’t even given any conscious thought to why.

Sometimes it’s because I’ve been struggling through a chronic illness flare-up or a stressful life situation. Sometimes I just haven’t been in the mood. All of those are valid reasons to avoid sex (and, as a reminder, you don’t even need a reason to avoid sex – “no” is a complete sentence, and all that!).

But sometimes, if I dig a little deeper, I’ll find that there is a specific thing which has been draining my sexual desire. And often, that specific thing is entirely fixable, now that I’ve identified what it actually is.

’Twas the end of November, when all ‘cross the ‘net,

Not a penis was stirring, not a pussy was wet;

Self-deniers on Reddit got ready for fun,

Knowing No Nut November soon would be done.

…is to pay attention to what they do, not what they say.

I give this advice often – to friends, to readers, to anyone who’s unsure whether their crush is into them – because it’s one of the truest things I know about relationships. You’ve heard it a zillion times before, because it’s simply the case, not just in the realm of crushes but in many other realms as well: Actions speak louder than words.

The trouble with this advice in a romantic context, however – and really, the trouble with any advice about sex and relationships – is that it’s not universally applicable. There are definitely reasons why someone might act like they don’t like you, when actually they do. Maybe they are trying to play it cool. Maybe their phone is malfunctioning. Maybe they are very busy with professional or personal obligations at the moment. Maybe they’ve got a complicated situation going on with a recent ex and they want to breathe for a sec before pursuing someone new. Maybe they struggle with answering messages in a timely way because of ADHD, depression, or other chronic conditions. Maybe they just have no game whatsoever and don’t know how to demonstrate their interest. (I have definitely been guilty of that!)

But by and large, it has been my experience that if someone is into you, there will be signs – and those signs will be most easily spotted in their behavior, not their words.

I don’t know when I’ll ever go on a first date again. Not to be dramatic about it, but like, the amount of energy and vulnerability it would take to seek out and set up a first date – a FIRST?! DATE?! – is just unfathomable to me right now.

I still wish I could go on one, because, while the worst first dates can be hellish beyond measure, the best first dates are a high like no other. Being on a great first date feels like doing drugs and winning the lottery at the same time – at least, to me. I’m sure at least a few of you find first dates categorically nervewracking and are cringing as you read this, and that’s valid too. I’m just a major slut for romance, chemistry, and connection – and I try to remain optimistic in matters of love, as a basic survival strategy in this bleak grey world, so I always try to believe that another great date could be right around the corner, because it always could.

To that end: I sure do fantasize a lot about first dates. Sometimes at night, when I’m trying to get to sleep, I’ll pick a current crush – from celebrities to social-media mutuals to people I know IRL – and just imagine what a first date with them would be like. It’s an oddly calming little game, seeking and pushing all the pleasure buttons in my own brain to help me sleep.

In your head, you can make a date go any way you want, and can all but ensure that anything you do or say will be well-received. For that reason, in these fantasies I often find myself asking questions I’d be far too shy to ask on a real first date, such as…

My dear darlings: I don’t have the words to express my devastation about this week’s election result. I’m so, so sorry that we live in a world where authoritarianism is so readily embraced, time and time again, and where marginalized people are regularly thrown under the bus. It fucking sucks, and I’m furious and heartbroken and scared, and it’s absolutely okay if you are too.

People have all kinds of reactions to strong emotions like these. When the situation in question involves access to reproductive healthcare (or a lack thereof), sometimes people react by proposing a “sex strike.” Usually these strikes involve women declining to have sex with men for the duration of the strike. Sometimes, as in the 4B movement in South Korea (which unfortunately is TERFy), these strikes extend to other activities too, such as dating men, marrying men, or having children.

Some American women have proposed launching similar sex strikes in the U.S., to protest the loss of Roe v. Wade and the re-election of a rapist. Since pregnancy is even more medically risky in a Roe-less world than it already was, it makes total sense to me that many people would become voluntarily celibate at a time like this. Better to have no sex at all, they might be thinking, than to have sex that could end up literally killing them (if, for example, the pregnancy goes awry and doctors are legally forbidden to intervene because of reproductive healthcare bans).

“Sex strike” discourse is often very cis-hetero, because these strikes are largely borne out of unequal gender dynamics in the cis-het dating world, and specifically out of the healthcare disparities between cis men and cis women. However, as a queer person and an erstwhile sex educator, I can’t help but notice that these strikes are usually based on two common assumptions in hetero dating culture, both of which are simply false:

While staying overnight at my parents’ house recently, I flipped through an old journal of mine from when I was 17, and spotted an exhortation I still often give myself today: “You should tell cute people they’re cute more often!”

Sounds obvious, maybe. But it took me a while to understand that it’s okay to give compliments freely – nay, that it’s a good thing, and that it tangibly brightens people’s days.

See, my social anxiety insists that randomly complimenting someone – specifically, someone I don’t know super well – is awkward, because it could make them uncomfortable. It took practice and experience for me to figure out that the likelihood of this is pretty low, assuming I stick to complimenting people on the right kinds of things (more on that in a sec).

I’ve also sometimes feared that complimenting someone might lead them to believe I’m attracted to them, even if I’m not (although, let’s be real, many of the people I compliment are indeed people I’m attracted to!). This, too, is probably a fabrication of my anxiety more than it’s based on actual fact. When someone’s trying to figure out if you’re into them, generally they’ll assess multiple different signs-or-lack-thereof, not just one offhand comment – and anyway, the more I compliment people, the more it becomes obvious (at least in group situations) that that’s just something I do, so it’s less likely to be taken as an automatic come-on.

I kinda hate the way sex writers and sex podcasters are depicted in movies and TV.

I’m sure that every industry is somewhat misrepresented by Hollywood, even Hollywood itself. You have to simplify big ideas sometimes to make them comprehensible and palatable for the masses, and the truth doesn’t always make for neat, easy narratives. I get that.

But whether it’s Carrie from Sex and the City, Joanne from Nobody Wants This, or any of the other major sexual media-makers in fiction these last couple decades, one recurring trope is these people’s insistence that their work “isn’t just about sex.”

The implication, of course, is that there would be something wrong with their work if it was just about sex. In an episode of And Just Like That, for instance, someone calls Carrie a sex writer, and she responds angrily, “What, do I write porn?!” as if that would be the worst thing in the world.

This past month, as I’ve watched all my favorite Twitch streamers play through the new Legends of Zelda game, Echoes of Wisdom, I’ve thought a lot about porn.

No, not because these playthroughs were pornographic in and of themselves – they make me want to beat Ganon, not beat off! – but rather, because they highlight how fun it can be to watch someone do something for their very first time.

I have a pivotal porn memory along these lines. I must’ve been in my late teens or early twenties, because I was scrolling through PornHub trepidatiously, still not entirely accustomed to using visual stimuli during masturbation. I stumbled across a video called something like “HER FIRST TIME TRYING ANAL.” Without even pausing to think, I clicked the thumbnail and began to watch.

What ensued was (to my mind) an over-acted approximation of what someone’s first time having anal could be like: nervous giggling, salacious lube application, cartoonish exclamations of pleasure-tinged-with-pain. I’ll never know whether it was actually her first time, or just a skilled porn performer fulfilling that fantasy for the viewer. But it made me aware, in a way I hadn’t been before, that I like seeing people’s authentic reactions to first times.

Hi! I’m gonna tell you all about polyamory in The Sims today, but before we get into that, I’d like to humbly ask you to vote for my miniseries, Making Magic, in the Signal Listener’s Choice Awards, which are ending very soon. Voting is quick and easy, and will help more people discover the series. Thanks so much! 😘🪄

As I’ve told you on a few occasions before, the Sims franchise has always been ahead of the curve in terms of sexuality and gender representation. Your Sims can be queer, trans, nonbinary… and now, they can be polyamorous too.

Oh, don’t get me wrong; people have been making polyamorous Sims since the game’s inception (myself included). The trouble was, the game – like much of modern society – was created with monogamy in mind. I used to get around this by entering a cheat code to give my Sims the “Player” trait, which would supposedly make it so that they could flirt with/kiss other people in front of their partner(s) and no one would get jealous; however, The Sims is a notoriously buggy game, so this often didn’t work quite right, souring many a birthday party with sudden Simlish arguments when someone got too lovey-dovey in front of their metamour.

(If you want to listen to me reading this piece aloud, the link is below for premium subscribers!)

The first time my now-spouse and I kissed, it felt like a scene from a movie. Like a capital-M Moment. Like it should’ve been soundtracked by a swell of sentimental strings, warbling with wonder.

Notably, it didn’t feel like the end of the movie. It felt like a moment near the beginning, when everything clicks into place, black and white becomes technicolor, and the protagonist’s life truly begins.

I live in fear of regretting my tattoos.

Getting tattooed is really the ultimate test of fortitude for someone who constantly second-guesses their own decisions, isn’t it? It’s a way of saying, to yourself and to the world: No, I’m sure about this. I’ve thought about it, and this is what I want. On my body. Forever.

As a Visibly Tattooed Person, I get asked about tattoos fairly often, even though I wouldn’t particularly consider myself an expert. Most commonly, someone will compliment my tattoos and then admit that they’ve long wanted to get inked themselves, but haven’t yet come up with an idea they’d be willing to commit to for eternity.

I felt like going down the Google Scholar rabbit hole this week, so here’s a little digest of (what I thought was) some of the most interesting recent news in the science of sex and relationships:

Some research showed that being ghosted increases your anxiety and decreases your self-esteem. Anyone who’s been ghosted could tell you that, of course, but it’s interesting to see it proven!

Here’s a sexual label that’s new to me: symbiosexuality! To be symbiosexual is to be attracted to couples. Rather than being attracted to either person as an individual, a symbiosexual might feel attracted to the dynamic between two people, or the energy they embody when they’re together. Interesting! I know a few self-identified unicorns who this label might apply to.

Content note: some discussion of fatphobia and disordered eating – nothing too detailed/explicit because this is a triggery topic for me, but thought you’d like to know, so you can take care of yourself, too!

One of my pet peeves on dating apps is when guys say “I’m looking for a woman who takes care of herself.”

It would be fine if they meant it literally, but they don’t. What they mean, for the most part, is: “I want a woman who is thin and goes to the gym multiple times a week.”

I don’t think I had heard the phrase “gender euphoria” when I was 15, in 2007, and I certainly hadn’t applied it to myself. But my first conscious experience of this type of euphoria was at a queer-straight alliance meeting.

The author S. Bear Bergman was reading aloud from his then-new book Butch is a Noun, and during a passage about femmes, something clicked for me. I understood that there was a sacred lineage of butch-and-femme as a duality and a spectrum, and I understood that I was a femme myself. I understood that my femmeness was beautiful, and queer, and desirable (at least for some people). I felt the “aha!” of alignment between how I saw myself and how the world seemed to see me. I felt gender euphoria.

Trans friends of mine, like Billy Lore, would teach me more and more about this concept over the years that followed, including that cis people can feel it at all. In fact, cis people’s gender euphoria-versus-dysphoria (to the extent that we feel it) is seen as such a pressing and valid issue that it’s much easier for cis people to access treatments that may help bring their bodies into that euphoric alignment, such as when cis women are prescribed estrogen to address coarser facial hair they may notice after menopause, or when cis men are prescribed testosterone because their dwindling sex drive is making them feel “like less of a man.” It’s infuriating and unfair that many, many trans people can’t access these same treatments because their fight against dysphoria (and quest toward euphoria) is pathologized and politicized in a way that cis people’s usually is not, even though, for trans people, it’s much likelier to be a life-or-death issue. (Orgs like the ACLU are fighting for better trans healthcare access, among other things.)

I’m thinking about this lately, because my internal sense of my own gender has shifted somewhat in recent years. I’m still very much a cis woman and a queer femme – but lately, when I see old photos of myself in hyperfemme ‘50s-pinup drag or what-have-you, it feels like just that: drag. When I wear outfits that feel too delicately, sweetly feminine, I feel boxed in now, rather than right at home, the way I used to. I find myself counterbalancing femme outfits with a beanie, sneakers, or a boxy leather jacket.

I’ve been sexting with an AI again.

The thing is, you’re not supposed to do this. Many AIs are specifically programmed to avoid generating sexual content, or so my smart software-developer spouse tells me.

There are some AIs out there that are built specifically for sexting, but the one I want to talk to you about today (which I’ll link to below) is not designed for that purpose. However, with a little know-how, you can bypass some of the guardrails that might otherwise inhibit your high-tech textual trysts. Let’s get into it…

I’ve been writing a lot of sexy fiction (including fanfiction) these last few years, and it’s fascinating to note all the ways it’s different from my usual nonfiction fare, the workaday stuff that pays my bills.

For one thing, I’m a lot faster at nonfiction. I swear I spent 5 hours working on fiction yesterday and cranked out just under 1,000 words. On a nonfiction day, that’d be my output in an hour. Maybe forty minutes, with coffee. I guess this makes sense, given that nonfiction writing has been my bread-and-butter for many years and I have a degree in it, but still – it’s staggering how different the mental processes can be between these two types of writing, and how I can feel like a grizzled old pro at one and a shiny-eyed newbie to the other.

But one specific difference I want to talk about today is pacing.

Pacing is certainly important in nonfiction. (Ask any great documentarian.) It’s often about the speed and intensity at which you dole out information, and the way you lead someone from one argument to the next. Sometimes I pace things quickly, like a newspaper article, tugging the reader briskly down one set path – and other times, I’ll linger at certain scenic stops along the way, to point things out to the reader, or make them think. It all depends on the intended effect, and what I want the reader to take away from the piece.

Now that the finale of my podcast miniseries on the Magic Wand vibrator, Making Magic, has gone live, I’m in the mood to reflect on this massive project and what it’s been like to work on it for the past year. Here’s a bunch of stream-of-consciousness notes and observations:

Making Magic was originally a book – or rather, it was going to be a book; that’s what I pitched to Vibratex when we met via Zoom in May of last year to discuss potential collaborations. It was the company’s CEO Ken Herskovitz who suggested doing it instead as an audio series. I may still write a book about the Magic Wand someday – life is long; who the hell knows? – but I’m really glad that this project ended up being audio-based instead. Hearing people’s Magic Wand stories in their own words, in their own voice, really hits different.

I didn’t know how to make a show like Making Magic before I started making it. I was literally learning how to make it while I was making it. That’s really scary! I mean, I’ve been podcasting since I was 12, but mostly that had involved recording a conversation between myself and 1-3 other people and lightly editing it. The only audio project I had done in a more complex, patchwork storytelling style before Making Magic was Beating the Stigma, an audio series about kink and mental health that I made in my final year of journalism school. So, going into this project was daunting, but I was exceptionally lucky to get to work with an editor, Jamie Pityinger, who turned my obsessively detailed scripts into fully-formed episodes.

I interviewed 35 people for this series, including several people I consider heroes and inspirations. My literal first interview for this project was with Carol Queen – talk about intimidating! And there was one day during production when I interviewed Stoya and Danarama in the same day – thankfully with a few hours in between for me to calm my starstruck nerves! I only got to speak to maybe one-third or half of the people I reached out to, and I think my original project proposal overambitiously said I’d aim for 40-50 sources, but 35 was a lot, and gave me more than enough material for the show.

(Premium subscribers, scroll down and you’ll find a link if you want to listen an mp3 of me reading this essay aloud!)

Goddamn it, it happened again: a Netflix dating show gave me a good idea for a newsletter. How dare Netflix do this to me? How dare they keep making thought-provoking content that both spotlights and lampoons the psychodrama of human relationships?! (To be fair, it’s also ethically disastrous, but I’ll leave it up to Emily Nussbaum to tell you about that part…)

So, Too Hot to Handle is back. I’ve ranted about you at the absurdity of that show before, so I won’t do that again here. I’ll just tell you about one scene in the show that surprised and delighted me this season.

I love being special. Oh boy, do I love it.

That’s what was going through my mind when I was blowing my FWB a few years back. They had told me that a medication was affecting their ability to reach orgasm. It was especially challenging during sex acts where they weren’t directly controlling the motion themselves. Like a blowjob.

And yet, as I found the right rhythm and the right placement, and kept at it, their voice went hoarse, and they gasped, “I think I’m gonna come.” And they did. And lemme tell you, it made me feel special as hell.

I thought about this again today when I went to a screening of the 1959 film Some Like It Hot. I’ve seen this movie a zillion times before, but one particular scene stood out to me on this re-watch – the one where jazz saxophonist Joe (Tony Curtis) pretends to be a sexually tortured millionaire in order to hook up with jazz singer Sugar (Marilyn Monroe). He tells her about his sex troubles:

Recently, a sex worker named Aella posted a link on Twitter to a “date me” survey she’d made. She wrote, “I’ve met, had sex with, and dated people from my previous date-me surveys. It doesn’t work all the time, but when it works it’s great, and causes me to fall for guys I never would have considered otherwise.” My interest was fuckin’ piqued, dude. It was piqued as hell.

See, for ages I’ve been wanting to date someone new, and ideally someone local – but it’s been tough. It seems like the dating apps are a hellscape for just about everyone, and I’ve found it especially challenging to meet people who are chill about my job – by which I mean, people who neither sexually harass me nor slut-shame me about it, and people who are actually open to dating a woman who talks about her sex life on the internet. I also just find that most people seem really boring on dating apps, even if they’re far from boring IRL, and that conversations on these apps tend to devolve into silence pretty quickly because nobody wants to put any damn effort into anything anymore. (Myself included, don’t get me wrong…)

So, the more that I thought about making a “date me” survey of my own, the more it seemed like a fantastic idea. I could ask the questions that matter to me most, and filter out the people who aren’t a good fit. I’d also be selecting for 1) people who already know about my work and are fine with it, and 2) people who are willing and able to put effort into their connections. When I assessed my dating frustrations of the last several years, all of the issues seemed to be more-or-less solvable by switching from the apps to a survey, at least in theory.

So, next, I had to decide what questions to ask. Some are multiple-choice and some are writing-based; some are marked as mandatory and some are not, though my preference is for folks to answer as many of the questions as possible, since each one gives me different information that is useful to me in my decision-making. I won’t reveal all of the questions here – there are 29 in total! – but I’ll talk you through most of them and why I felt they were important enough to include.

Being smart is central to my identity. If you asked me to describe myself in one word… well, first I’d probably make some jokey-not-really-a-joke like “tired!” or “depressed!” but, if pushed, I’d say smart. I definitely don’t think I’m a genius or anything, and there are moments daily when I feel dumb as hell, but my intelligence is the thing I’ve been complimented on the most in my life, so it feels like the realest and best part of me. (It’s also something my therapist has repeatedly advised me to untangle from my self-image, so that I don’t have an identity crisis any time I try something new and am bad at it, but that’s another story…)

Anyway, all this to say, I’ve always been a smartie, and so there is almost nothing hotter to me than being outsmarted.

Let me be very clear about what I do not mean when I say I like being outsmarted: I do not mean that I want to be condescended to, or to have things mansplained to me. I do not mean that I want someone to pedantically quibble with things I have said. I do not mean that I want someone to assume I need their tutelage and then inflict it on me unsolicited.

What I do mean is… When someone clearly sees and understands exactly how smart I am, and in what ways, and can meet me where I’m at, and volley our conversation back and forth like a lively tennis match, perhaps playfully pointing out some actual holes in my argument or blind spots in my thinking along the way, well… I’m not sure what could be hotter than that. Further, while I do date people other than men, I think it’s worth mentioning here that a man who can value a woman’s intelligence on its own merits is usually a man who sees women as full people – something I wish I didn’t even have to say, but unfortunately the bar is low enough that I do.

In my communities of sex-positive kinky nerds, it’s often bemoaned that there aren’t enough terms for sex acts that actually sound sexy. (Do I want you to go down on me? Yes. Do I want you to “eat my pussy,” “munch my box,” or go for a “muff dive”? Preferably not.)

However, as erotica writers and phone sex operators can attest, there are a lot of sexual terms out there, and the well-known ones have usually stuck around for a reason – that reason being, there are people out there who find it appealing.

I think oftentimes these terms start to take on certain cultural meanings, through which their more literal meanings are filtered. Picture someone who calls cum “semen”; now picture someone who exclusively calls it “spunk.” You probably imagined pretty different people. I think our perceptions of what “kind of person” would use a term can influence our own feelings on sexual vocab more than we realize. We absorb these meanings through media, conversation, and observation, over many years, perhaps not even consciously.

All this to say: A person’s preferences, when it comes to sexual language, are very much informed by their personal history, background, the types of media they consume, the places they hang out online (or don’t), and so on. So I’m sure you can understand why the following ranked list of terms for reaching orgasm is based solely on my own subjective opinion, and is not meant to be a pronouncement on anyone else using these terms. If a sexual word or phrase turns you on or otherwise delights you, please go forth and use it! I’m just in the mood to examine my own linguistic biases today, I guess. Let’s start with my least faves and work our way up.

Polyamory has been getting more and more mainstream media attention these last few years, which unfortunately means that us polyamorists have needed to go on the defensive. And, predictably, this has meant that some polyamorists revert to tired old pro-poly arguments that don’t really hold much water, if you ask me.

Since my first forays into polyamory, and long before that (I’m sure), there have been people who argue – sometimes quite persuasively! – that polyamory is better than monogamy. Not better for individual people, not better for certain situations, but just better, across the board.

These people will often evoke evolutionary psychology arguments, claiming that because bonobos are slutty, humans are naturally wired to be slutty too, and that this means polyamory is somehow simultaneously the most evolved relationship structure and the relationship structure that is truest to our evolutionary roots. (Make it make sense!)

I understand where these people are coming from, particularly as polyamory continues to receive waves of public pushback every time a new article comes out mocking our happiness. I just think there are stronger arguments to be made.

Content note: some not-particularly-explicit mentions of taboo fantasies like incest roleplay and consensual non-consent while half-asleep.

About six months ago, I mostly stopped jerking off to porn, and instead started jerking off to Quora threads. 

For those unfamiliar, Quora is similar to Yahoo! Answers: a place where users can post questions and receive responses from other users. As with most such websites, it's a perpetual crapshoot: sometimes you'll get an answer from what appears to be a suitably credentialed expert on the topic you asked about, while other times you'll get answers from laypeople who have no qualifications beyond strong conviction.

I’m writing this from a giant bathtub in my hotel room in Stratford, Ontario. My parents invited me to come with them to the theatre festival here; we go every year that we can. It’s wholesome that my parents are the people who introduced me to theatre and taught me to love it, and I still get to share it with them regularly to this day.

We saw an adaptation of Peter Pan yesterday and a production of La Cage Aux Folles today, and – as is typical for me – I had a crush on like half the people in the casts of both shows, and now I’m thinking about why I’m so prone to theatre crushes.

Setting aside the obvious fact that working theatre actors tend to be talented, good-looking, hard-working, brave, and strong-willed (since all of these traits help you substantially in the biz), I mainly see my theatre crushes as a microcosm of my demisexuality. I’ll flip through the program before the show begins, reading the cast’s credits, and usually no one in particular will stand out to me as cute – but then the show starts, and then I get to watch all these people act, sing, dance, and go through an emotional arc for a couple hours. It’s not the same thing as developing an emotional connection with them, of course, but I feel the same sensation of attraction clicking into place, after gaining some familiarity with the person (or at least with their character): how they talk, how they move, what their face does when they’re happy or sad or horny or angry. Invariably, by the time intermission comes around, I feel a little like I know them – which makes it possible for me to think they’re really fucking hot/cute/swoonworthy.

Now, would the attraction translate if we met outside of that environment (assuming they were into me too)? Who knows. Maybe it was just the lights, costumes, and stage magic, and the attraction would dissipate like flung confetti once the house lights come up. But even still, I think theatre crushes have value.

A reader asked: I have a FWB whose penis smells and tastes really funky, every time. How do I tell him without hurting his feelings?

I’ve been asked variations on this question countless times in my years as a professional sex-advice-giver, and it’s one that I’ve never really had a good answer for.

On the one hand: Obviously if you intend to continue fucking someone, you want the fucking to be a pleasant experience for both of you, and the other person probably wants that too – so it makes sense to talk about these types of concerns, so they can perhaps be solved or worked around. In addition, an unusual taste or smell can be a sign of a medical issue (e.g. bacterial vaginosis or a penile yeast infection) and/or inadvisable personal hygiene practices (e.g. douching and thereby fucking up your vaginal pH, or not knowing you’re supposed to wash under your foreskin), and you could actually be doing someone a favor if you let them know about the smell/taste issue so they can get it checked out.

I wasn’t expecting to encounter a great piece of sex toy-related wisdom in a video about mechanical keyboards, and yet that’s exactly what happened.

I’ve been interested lately in the community of mechanical keyboard hobbyists – people who obsess over customizing their keyboards by swapping out the internal and external parts to create their own unique workstation. I’ve spent hours poring over keycaps and switches, so I have some understanding of why the hobby is so compelling, but I’m especially intrigued the community that’s sprung up around it – why do people drop hundreds or even thousands of dollars on keyboards and their parts, and then spend hours of their lives taking them apart and putting them back together? Here’s what an influential member of the community, Taeha Types, has to say about it in his video on the subject:

“To most, keyboards are thought of as uninteresting tools, simply meant to get our tasks done. But that’s precisely why I think people should care about their keyboards: so much of our daily activities rely on them… Why shouldn’t we invest in something that we use so often? … [For example], purchasing a [high-end] cinema camera doesn’t suddenly turn me or others into a great YouTuber. I still need to make meaningful and engaging content, and that’s not something upgrading my gear will magically create. However… it does indirectly help me, in the sense that it makes me feel good about making videos. Every time I pick up my [camera], I feel inspired, and it makes me excited to play around with it. It makes me want to shoot videos, and this positive mentality will manifest itself in my creativity and content. I think the same applies to keyboards.”

In places where writers gather, online or off, ine­vitably one of the topics we will discuss is writer's block – that notorious stoppage in our normally abundant flow of words.

Raising this topic with other writers often sparks a lively debate, because some people believe writer's block exists, and some think it doesn't. Those in the latter camp will argue that you can always force yourself to write, as long as you're not precious about your working conditions and have done the deep thinking and research needed to write whatever you're writing. Sometimes these people are borderline-cruelly dismissive of others' struggles to create, arguing that only an unserious or undisciplined writer would let a lack of inspiration get in their way.

On the opposite side of the debate, you have the people who believe in writer's block. These people may have an esoteric or woo-woo view of crea­tivity, conceptualizing it as a temporarily dammed river of cosmic energy – or they may see their creativity in more pragmatic terms, believing that they're stuck because of anxiety or indecision or stress or burnout. People on this side of the debate say you shouldn't "force it" when you're blocked, just as you shouldn't slam on the gas pedal while the emergency brake is engaged.

Personally, I land somewhere in between these two perspectives. Having done my SongAWeek challenge for two years – not to mention cranking out content for publications so I can earn a living – I know it’s possible to write when you feel like you have nothing to say. But will the writing be good in that case? Not usually. Sometimes you'll surprise yourself, though.

As I waited in an interminable customs line at the airport a couple days ago, I did the same thing I always do, because I am an anxious mess: I mentally rehearsed my answers to the questions they'd be likely to ask. I didn’t want to make a fool of myself by misspeaking or stumbling over my words when I got to the front.

Usually, I'm only asked to tell them my pro­fession, so I keep it vague – “I'm a writer and podcaster” – but I knew, in this case, that I'd have to talk about sex toys, because the main reason for this trip is that I'm speaking on a panel about the Magic Wand vibrator at the Museum of Sex on Monday. (You are welcome to come, should you be in the area!)

In the end, I just told the guy I was attending a professional event, and when he asked for clarification, I explained it's an event commemorating a historical vibrator. He seemed hesitant to inquire further, and promptly let me through. But the whole thing got me pondering a question again that I've pondered before: Is "sex toys" really the best and most accurate term for the category of objects it describes? Or should we instead adopt a less playful, more neutral term, like “sex tools,” “sex products,” “sex utensils” or “sex implements”?

I've witnessed many a lively discussion between sex edu­cators, sex workers, and other sex nerds about this, so I feel qualified to present the main arguments on both sides.

Getting back together with one's ex-partner must be an appealing idea for many people, because it's romanticized – not to mention eroticized – in many, many famous stories. The Parent Trap. The Notebook. Pride & Prejudice. We love a relationship redemption arc.

One of the most compelling pieces of media I've seen on this topic was an Australian reality show called Back With the Ex. In it, several former couples met back up and tried to work through the struggles that had ended their relationship in the first place, in the hopes of turning over a new leaf. It was genuinely touching to see how far people would go to make things right with "the one that got away," although equally, it was humbling to see that most people can't change their old patterns and bad habits as easily as they think they can, even in the name of love.

Reunions between exes aren't just a romantic idea to me, though – they're a sexy one, too; even something I’ve occasionally roleplayed with my partner. While personally I have almost no exes I’d risk sleeping with again, let alone dating again, in theory it’s nonetheless a hot idea to me. Here are some reasons I think the "back with the ex" trope is so intriguing:

1. The ex knows how to fuck you (at least, this idealized version in fantasy). In the wake of a breakup, I've often fumbled through awkward consolation fucks with random folks from Tinder. Not necessarily through any fault of their own, hooking up with these people often just drove home for me how much I missed fucking my recent ex.

If your brain was a house, and each of your moods was its own room, which rooms would be adjacent to lust?

The sexologist Emily Nagoski poses this question in a section of her newest book, Come Together, and it's kind of blowing my mind.

She explains it better than I do, but to summarize: there are certain patterns to human emotion, patterns which can be observed in the different areas of the brain that light up while we're in different moods. Lust is one such mood, and it's one that can be tricky to get into. For instance, most people find it difficult to move into a lusty headspace directly from rage, fear, or sadness. There are other "rooms" in their emotional floorplan that they need to walk through first, in order to reach lust.

Nagoski encourages readers to draw their own floorplan, since humans are quite variable in this regard. As I began to do this, I saw that the rooms adjacent to lust for me are what Nagoski calls play, care, and seeking.

I once asked a friend, during a nosy discussion of our respective sex lives, under what conditions he tends to most enjoy sex. I figured he might talk about particular sex acts, positions, or roles – but instead, he said: he strongly prefers sex where everyone involved is completely naked. He'd had awkward experiences before where this was not the case, and so now he felt most relaxed, most free, and most receptive to pleasure when he and his partner both disrobed com­pletely beforehand.

I must admit I was surprised by this, because nudity has never been a particularly important aspect of sex for me. A lot of times when I masturbate or have sex, I only remove the articles of clothing that are directly blocking my path to the relevant bits, and sometimes not even those – a wand vibrator works perfectly well through pants and underwear, after all. If a higher proportion of clothes come off, it tends to be because the person I'm fucking initiates the removal of clothing – or because I'm overheated and need to cool down.

I just don't really care about being naked, and sometimes it's actually sexier if I'm not. Maybe my positive associations with half-clothed sex come from the days when, as a teenager, I'd keep my outfit partly on during sex in case a family member were to open my bedroom door (which lacked a lock). It almost never happened, but each time it did, I was beyond grateful to be able to flip my skirt down and instantly conceal any evidence of tomfoolery (besides maybe my blushing face).

I think a common reason people may not want to get naked during sex is some flavor of body image issues, whether they be dysmorphia, dysphoria, or just the toxic soup of self-judgment we're all fed all the time by tabloid articles and social media. This mostly isn't a factor for me currently, because I know and trust that my spouse adores my body, but it has sometimes come up for me in the past, especially when sleeping with newer or short-lived partners who had not yet expressed liking how my body looks. I want to be able to relax and enjoy myself during sex, and sometimes it's easier to do that if I keep my dress on, so I don't have to wonder what this new person thinks about my stomach or boobs.

I grew up thinking that occasional screaming arguments were a normal feature of marriage, because they were a regular occurrence in my household.

In retrospect, this explains a lot about why I was so ambivalent on the question of marriage until meeting my now-spouse. I had seen how marriage could be romantic and wonderful, sure, but I had also seen how it could be terrifying. It involved legal and financial entanglement with someone who might turn out to be your terrorizer – or, alternatively, you might find yourself turning into the terrorizer, overtaken by the stressors and annoyances of living with someone that closely day in and day out. No thanks, I thought; I’m good.

So it confused me when I got into a long-term relationship in my late teens/early twenties that was not characterized by blowout arguments at the slightest inconvenience. Even when I was annoyed with my partner, it didn’t occur to me to scream at him about it, and it certainly didn’t occur to me to throw things, break things, etc., nor did he seem to have these impulses either. When we disagreed about something, we just… talked about it, and laid bare our own feelings on the subject, dumping them out on the table between us like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle we hoped to assemble together.

The same is true for my current relationship: no screaming arguments. The closest we’ve come is a couple times I physically left a restaurant we were eating at because I got too upset during a discussion of a tense relationship issue and needed to get away from the situation. We always patched those up afterward, with more love than anger.

I love “meet-cutes” in fiction, but I hate what they’ve done to my brain.

It’s such a joyful idea, meeting someone randomly, at a bar or on a street corner or in line at the bank, and having a near-instant connection that feels like it could lead to something. Fun dates. Good sex. Love.