A recent Twitter poll set up by queer icon Allison Moon sought to determine how self-isolation is affecting people’s libidos, by quizzing couples who are isolated together about how their fuck-frequency has changed. It didn’t surprise me that more people reported a loss of sexual desire than an uptick – but what did surprise me is that the majority of respondents said their libido had stayed more-or-less the same. This leads me to suspect that some factors of this situation are boner-killers, while others are… boner-igniters? (Is that a thing? Please don’t light your dick on fire.)

I will now elucidate some of the factors I think might be contributing to the libidinal ambivalence of our current era…

Pro: You have more free time to kill and fewer activities to kill it with. (Some of you do, anyway, if you possess a certain level of privilege in this situation.)

Con: Many other activities can easily trounce sex in the battle for your attention. For instance – free Met opera streams, Animal Crossing, vying for a coveted grocery delivery time slot, your distant relatives’ COVID denialism on Facebook, the endless scroll of bad news on Twitter.

Content note: COVID-19, global panic, alcohol, drugs, hypnosis, food, exercise, electrostimulation, rough sex.

It’s always weird when a crisis strips you not only of your routine but also of your core coping mechanisms. Normally if I was panicked about a global situation, I would grab a book and my headphones and go to a restaurant or bar to read and eat/drink alone, comforted by the solitude-among-people, the low-effort coziness, the sense of community with strangers. Or I would book an impulsive plane ride to go see my partner in New York. But obviously these measures do not hold up in the age of COVID-19, when we’re told over and over again: go nowhere, see no one. So, like many many others, I’ve been rewriting the rulebook of my own coping methods.

Here are some things I have found that help:

When I attended the Toronto premiere of the documentary The Artist & the Pervert, which centers on the relationship between esteemed kink educator Mollena Williams-Haas and her genius dominant Georg Haas, the most striking scene to me by far (if you’ll pardon the pun) was a spanking that took place on the couple’s sofa.

It was the casualness, the everydayness, of the spanking that piqued my interest. This was not a thoroughly negotiated, carefully prepped scene; this was a moment of unrehearsed tenderness between two people who happen to be kinky. Watching a few playful swats devolve into a heavy beating felt equivalent to watching a vanilla couple melt from a chaste peck into a desperate, groping kiss. It was romantic, but not dramatic – unconventional, yet normal.

I’ve dreamed of this type of day-to-day D/s for years. Knowing it would manifest differently in reality than in fantasy, I’ve nonetheless daydreamed about cleaning a partner’s kitchen in an apron and lipstick, curling up at a dominant’s feet while they hold my leash during a Netflix marathon, getting tucked in and told a perverted bedtime story by my devious daddy. I enjoy blazing-hot kinky erotica as much as the next sub, but it’s stories of this type of habituated dynamic that really fascinate me. What does kink look like when early passions have calmed and comforting routines have set in?

Earlier this week, on a depressed and lethargic afternoon, I laid with my partner on their couch. We kissed mid-conversation, and as the kiss deepened, I turned to face them and laid my legs across their lap. Thus enabled, they raised their fist and began – gently at first, and then more insistently – to land a series of hard punches on the meaty part of my ass.

We’d had “Matt teaches Kate how to make a Southside” on our ever-growing Things We Should Do Together list for a while, but I didn’t know it would happen the way it did.

“I’m going to make a Southside while talking you through every step as I do it, and then you’re going to make one for me,” Matt said.

“Oh, and you’re going to do it naked.”

Being completely naked in a kitchen is a very particular mood. (I was not even permitted, as I sometimes am, to keep my socks on.) It’s all cold tile and granite and chrome. Each step feels pronounced, each touch of your unprotected skin against any surface that isn’t someone else’s body. I’d barely finished tossing my last garment on the floor when Matt pushed me up against the screaming-cold refrigerator, making me gasp like I’d just been dunked in icewater, and kissed me, hard. I love learning all the various unexpected and random ways their sadism can manifest.

Thus satisfied – and definitely smirking – they began to make my drink. Muddled mint leaves, sweet simple syrup, good dry gin, fresh-squeezed limes. I observed each step, taking mental notes. I willed myself not to let Matt shake the thoughts out of my head like an Etch-a-Sketch when they agitated the drink in their metal shaker, home-bartender biceps tensed and working hard. I watched them double-strain the green drink into a chilled coupe and float a mint leaf delicately atop it. We each took a sip: perfect.

My process was slower; I spent more time scanning the counter for the components of each next step. I muddled messily, poured precariously. I needed help with the juicer because my hands are weak and full of pain zaps. But I built the drink successfully, eventually, and then we got to the shaking.

“Would you mind not looking at me for this part?” I asked. “I know that’s weird, but… it’s an anxiety thing.”

It’s an anxiety thing is always shorthand for something much more complex, and in this case it was: I’m nervous that I will do a bad job at this thing I know you value (having heard you comment admiringly or questioningly on many, many bartenders’ shakes), and that you will see it and think me less attractive for it, and I’m also worried that my many jiggly bits will jiggle when I jounce the drink around, in a way that would be imperceptible if I had clothes on, and that that, too, will make you love me less, even though you’ve seen me jiggle –  in some cases made me jiggle – in all manner of situations both silly and sexy.

So I don’t want you to watch me shake this drink because I think it will shake your resolve to love me, somehow.

I’m sure Matt didn’t know all the parts of this internal apprehension, but they knew some of them. They knew me well enough to agree to close their eyes while I walked around the corner into the living room and shook the hell out of that drink where no one could see.

It was delicious – not as pretty as the one Matt had made, but I would’ve gotten a good grade, had I been graded. We retired to the sofa with our Southsides. “Can I put my clothes back on?” I asked, and Matt laughed and said yes.

Now I sometimes make drinks for my roommate in our tiny kitchen, and when I get to the shaking part, she always dances. The ice thrashing against metal makes a rhythm that inspires in her a bodily need to move. I don’t hide anymore when I shake our drinks; I just watch her and we laugh together as the cold metal begins to frost over in my strong, practiced hands.

Happy holidays and impending new year, friends! I have some suggestions today for rituals you could do to cap off your year and ring in the new one. Some of these are woo-woo, because I’m one of those insufferable “spiritual but not religious” types, and some are not. Take what you love, make it your own, and let me know how it goes!

1. Wear red underwear on New Year’s Eve, perhaps purchased specifically for the occasion. This is supposedly an old tradition, meant to bring you good luck in the sex and romance sector of your life for the year to come.

2. Make a list of commitments you’re going to make in the new year that will lead you further down the ethical path you want to take. These could be as involved as “start volunteering for my local queer youth hotline” or as simple as “stop using the word ‘crazy’ because it’s ableist.” Consider sharing your list with a friend (or the internet) so you’ll feel more accountable to it.

3. Think hard about your 2020 goals while having your first orgasm of the year. (For bonus points, time it so you orgasm right at midnight!)

4. Make a playlist that you intend to be your soundtrack for the year to come. Put songs on it that make you feel the way you want your next year to feel.

5. If you don’t have anyone to kiss at midnight and you want to, try looking for a midnight date on Tinder or somesuch. There are other people out there who want to be kissed!

6. Take a leaf out of Alcoholics Anonymous’s book and make amends for the ways you fucked up this year. (It’s okay. We all fucked up in one way or another, every single one of us.) Send some heartfelt apology texts or emails. You’ll feel better and someone else might too.

7. Make a list of new kinks/sexual activities you want to try in the new year. Start researching how to do them, if you like.

8. Dance hard enough that you start sweating and glowing. (There are always lots of places to go dancing on New Year’s Eve.) Think of it like a cleansing ritual for your body and vibes. ✨

9. Think about one significant change you’d like to make to your appearance in the coming year. Haircut? New tattoo? Start wearing lipstick? These may seem small but they can make a huge difference in your self-perception and the way your life feels to you.

10. Email a few of the people you follow online, but don’t know IRL, to let them know how their work enriched your life this year.

11. Delete a bunch of apps from your phone, especially ones you never use or ones that needlessly stress you out.

12. Start planning any travel you want to do or events you want to attend in the new year. Having a roadmap of the year to come will keep you on track and excited about your future.

13. Unfollow people you dislike, or who make you feel bad, on social media. You don’t need ‘em.

14. If you’re into sadomasochism of any variety, do a heavy scene the intention of which is to cathartically clear out last year’s bullshit and make room for the new year’s delights. For example, last year my partner made me list my 2019 goals between hits during a spanking scene; they’ve also made me list my achievements in the same way, since I’m not always good at recognizing how far I’ve come.

15. Work your way through these Reverb journal prompts to help you reflect on your year and look ahead to the new one. (I like to do my heavy-duty journaling at cafés or cocktail bars.)

16. Take to heart the old maxim that the way you spend the first day of your year sets the tone for the other 364 days to come, and make your January 1st incredible in every way you can. If something goes awry and your New Year’s Day disappoints you for some reason, just try again the next day until you have a day you’re happy with, and make that day your ideal to strive for, going forward.

17. Start a sex spreadsheet!

18. Take stock of the new people you met this year, in both personal and professional contexts, and what you learned from each of them.

19. Go through your condom stash and throw out any that have expired. While you’re at it, get rid of any bottles of lube that have gotten old and gross, and toss any sex toys that aren’t body-safe.

20. Take a hot bath and ritualistically exfoliate your whole body with a scrub or a body brush. Don’t forget to moisturize afterward!

21. Text one person who you think is cute and tell them you think they’re cute. (To paraphrase Natalie from Love Actually, “If you can’t say it on New Year’s, when can you, hey?”)

22. Make a list of things you want to let go of – insecurity, impostor syndrome, that one ex you keep thinking about – and then burn the list (safely!). This is best done at a bonfire with a crew of friends all doing the same, especially if you each dramatically read your lists aloud before tossing them into the flames. Catharsis ahoy!

23. Go for brunch with friends on New Year’s Day. Quell your hangovers with diner food and coffee.

24. Clean out your inbox, downloads folder, purse(s), fridge, desk drawers, and so on. New years are fresh starts!

25. Have a loved one shoot some photos of you – perhaps sexy ones, nude or in cute underwear. Create a record of who you were – and how gorgeous you were – at the start of the year.

Do you have any treasured New Year’s rituals? Feel free to hit “reply” and tell me all about ‘em!

It is American Thanksgiving, which, as a Canadian, I find strange. Christmas is hot on the heels of this holiday; how much turkey can one person eat within a month? How many sweaters can one person wear and how many rude relatives’ questions can one person deflect?

But I digress... Here, in the spirit of this problematic holiday, is a list of some things I’m grateful for:

• Music so good you want to grind it into your bones, soak it up through your skin, roll around in it instead of getting up and going to work.

• Meals lovingly prepared for you by someone whose eyes go warm and soft when they glance across the kitchen at you, making you feel like, “Yes. This.”

• The way Twitter and other such mediums allow so many of us to access a coveted feeling of renownedness and belonging that can sometimes be the difference between total despair and begrudging grit.

• Word nerds, book nerds, etymologists, agents, editors, voracious readers, overthinkers and graceless dorks.

• Bright colors assembled in ensembles like armor. An unfuckwithable pink cardigan that is feminine but not soft. Dresses that are like “suffragettes, but make it fashion.” Boots that suffer no fools.

• Podcasts you can lose yourself in, that make you laugh until you cry and momentarily forget about the world that lurks outside your headphones.

• Having a partner who feels like home and safety and rightness, whose scent balances your brain, whose kind words stitch you back together day by day.

Happy Thanksgiving, my loves!