My name is Zoe Hanis and I am a complete and utter fangirl. Yes, yours truly was reduced to quiet stares lost in his clear eyes, able to only answer direct questions, not take the conversation further. So much I want to ask; so much I want to learn; to do.
It started a few weeks ago, when Cooper asked if I wanted to go with him and Dylan to a hand sex workshop at a sex shop downtown.
Handsex? I thought, yet another strange thing I am doing for Swingset. Isn’t it enough that I experiment on my playmates with the newest sex toy? Well I suppose I might learn something outside my usual repertoire; after all, at oral I excell (I even have references) but I am not so good with my hands. Oh, I can do the usual touching, massaging, caressing, scratching, etc. but when it comes to actual handjobs or g-spot stimulation, I could use some work.
So being the good minion, I did some research into this workshop. I found that it was being given by, none other than, Reid Mihalko (@Reidaboutsex). Oh My God – HE was going to be here in Chicago and I was going to be learning from him. I had heard him speak on the podcast (and listened to it over and over), devoured the information on his website (reidaboutsex.com), and even ordered a Sex Geek t-shirt. I had touched base on Facebook and Twitter. I had become one of those teenage girls that I had never gotten along with throughout school – I was a fan.
This isn’t to say that I never had crushes, though I never crushed on an actor or movie star. I fantasized about the character that was portrayed – not the player. I liked the lyricists, those that wrote the songs, not necessarily the musicians that played them. In college, when most of the girls on my dorm floor were ogling over the star athletes or fraternity guys, I was the girl trying desperately to write German poetry to my foreign language professor or tutor the son of another professor in the hope that she would want to take me to dinner. I am a sapiosexual.
The day of the workshop, everything began to go wrong. Cooper had lost his voice and was taking a sick day. And Cooper without a voice is, well just grumpy. So it was down to Dylan and I…which quickly became me. Cooper texted me encouragingly; he knew that I was not thrilled about going alone, into the city, to a sex shop, to a hand sex workshop. I asked my couple if one or both would want to join me, but the scheduling was not to be. So I went alone, into the city, into the sex store, arriving extremely early in the hopes that I could see HIM ahead of time.
He was punctual and as dreamy as his pictures. His sense of humor and enthusiasm put people right at ease. He was open and honest. He hugged me as soon as I introduced myself. I explained that Cooper and Dylan were ill so it was just me from the Swingset. I am not used to being a representative outside of the office or when dealing with anyone other than the manufactures and purveyors of sex toys.
I took my seat in the front of the room next to a women with the greatest pink hair and the nicest disposition. And he began. We laughed and we learned. I learned.
He spoke of anatomy in a way like I had never heard it before; learning more about my body than I did in years of school health classes. And I remember it. Every so often, he would have us turn to our neighbor and say one thing that we have learned to keep set that material into our brains.
And it worked. I remember more than I would have dreamed possible. I know now that:
- unlike the male, the female erectile tissue does not “come online” at the same time. Accounting for the fact that sometime g-spot stimulation is uncomfortable for me and simply gives a feeling that I need to urinate (I just thought I was weird)
- that the scrotal sac is actual the labia fused in utero
- that the goal is not simply to “go for the hole”
- that Mr. Spock may have been extremely logical, but knows all about vulva
- that in slowing down, the nerve endings are more sensitive
- that parents need to teach their children that it is ok to make noise while masturbating
- and that questions should not be phrased as “is this ok?” rather “do you like it more this way or that?” or “on a scale of 1 to 10, where 10 is don’t stop or I will punch you cause it feels that good, what would you rate this as? How can I make it a [insert higher number]?”
He demonstrated hand techniques using a cucumber for a penis along with a glove filled with what looked like small limes for the scrotum and a melon with a cut out slit for the vulva. In each case he had a volunteer come up and hold said fruit. He pulled out gloves before diving into the lube.
GLOVES! I think it was at that point that my knees got weak. I don’t have a large amount of sexual hangups but lube on my fingers is a HUGE one for me. Even the thought of it crinkles my nose and gives me the willies. Before I was given the idea that yes, gloves were just fine for handjobs, anal play and g-spot stimulation, I had specifically steered away from any such activity and now seem to be making up for lost time. The fact that he specifically stopped to put on gloves in such a matter of fact, nonchalant way reinforced what I have been told, “it is ok to think lube on your hands is yucky.”
The workshop was over too quickly. I waited for the crowd to thin and told him how much I enjoyed the workshop. How Cooper was going to be very upset to have missed it and sends a kiss. I was surprised when he gave me his cheek to give him “Cooper’s kiss”; though I think I was more surprised when I turned his face to mine and kissed him full on the mouth! I took that opportunity to ask if I could buy him a drink. He looked over at a small group, including the woman I had sat next to and said, I think that can be arranged.
It ended up being a small group of us that walked to a close by pub where he joined us when he was finished. He pulled a chair up next to me and the bunch of us spent the next almost two hours talking about sex and life. I found myself wanting to touch him, to stroke him – I am a very touchy person, and not usually so reserved. I did a bit, but mostly sat and listened; wanting so to be a part of his world. The evening came to a close, as all good things must. I paid for his drink, as I had said I would, and offered him a ride to wherever it was he was going. The pink haired woman had already beat me to it. But he gave me a big hug and sent me on my way.
And I smiled all the way home; remembering his eyes, his scent, and his openness.
I will definitely have to keep track of when he may return to Chicago. Perhaps by then I may have thought of something more eloquent to say than what the hamsters were trying to get me to blurt out at the pub last night: Wanna play?