Femme Daddy 4 Femme

Sugar, a pale, fat queer with freckles, black lipstick, and black eyeliner, reclines against the wooden headboard of a bed. Their hair is cyan and short, falling to their ears. They are wearing a black babydoll that is split down the middle and red underwear. They are gazing directly into the camera, head tilted to the left ever so slightly, and holding one tail of a black suede flogger in both hands in front of their face, biting down on the middle of the tail.If you’re looking for something sexy, have a sweet and true story snippet from my first sexual experience as a femme Daddy. (Which is pretty fucking great, y’all.)


[CW: Sexually explicit, DDLG, orgasm control.]

**********
**********

“Oh, Daddy…”

She’s squirming beneath me, the pitch of her voice octaves higher than usual, her breathing ragged and her hips rotating, supple lips parted, lashes long and dark over her cheekbones, eyes rolled back beneath her eyelids. I press my hand harder into her cunt through her short shorts, applying the pressure to her vulva that I know she craves – firm, unerring rubbing, massaging the legs of her internal clitoris, sending warm satisfaction through her groin and tingles into the head of her clit as it continues to swell.

“You have to tell me when you want to cum, babygirl.”

I shift the layers of my skirt to leer over her, press the Die Cast against her clothed cunt, and lean into it, savoring the feeling of her body shuddering under mine. She immediately takes her mouth off the pillow and tries to muster the words. It’s cute, her incredible responsivity, the soft noises she makes, the way she begins to pant so easily when she’s swamped with lust. I drag the long nails of my other hand up the bare inside of her upper thigh. Eventually that sweet, small voice comes back out.

“Now, please, Daddy…”
“Okay kitten… bite the pillow then, Daddy’s going to make you cum.”

She stuffs the fabric into her mouth as I turn the Die Cast up, squeezing one of her breasts and rubbing the wand up and down her vulva. The Die Cast is already starting to numb my fingertips, holding it as close to the head as I am, but it’s worthwhile – I know it won’t be long before I get what I want from my girl. Her muscles are twitching and she begins to tremble beneath me, her quickening breath beginning to hitch in her throat. I bump the vibe up another notch.

“Oh, that’s a good girl… Cum for Daddy, babygirl.”

She lets go, squealing into the pillow, convulsing under me as I hold the head of the toy against her, watching that sweet expression on her beautiful face – her curls falling over one of her eyes and obscuring everything but the black, sharp tip of her flawless winged eyeliner. When her convulsions slow and she curls in on herself, I turn off the vibrator. We had five minutes to get that orgasm out, and I want us to be prompt about her departure so I can respect my roommates’ boundaries.

If I didn’t have to send her home, I’d keep the vibrator on against her cunt, hitch up my skirt, and ride it down into her until we were both exhausted and soaked. I’d part my outer lips and show her the slick, convulsing, pink parts of me, dripping after the languid and intensely hot making out, the feeling of her tits in my hands, the frustrated, whiny way she whimpered, “Daddy…” when I bit her earlobe. I’d let her stroke and probe, show her how I liked it, let her explore every curve and crevice I had.

And then, I’d give her my Sailor Moon pajama shirt to change into for bed and hold her afterward, my naked body against her, kissing the back of her neck and lacing my fingers through hers until we fell asleep together in a room reeking of incense, make-up, perfume, and sex.

Poems I’ll Never Send My Tinder Dates: The Rescuer

[This is sexually explicit. CW: Mentions of caning, knife play, chain fisting, watersports, and PTSD.]

*****

*****

to the guy
for whom i was going to write an erotic poem
except
you ghosted me after our 3 overnights:

after you
charmed me with
a calculated sadism
balanced by a wickedly sexy,
affectionate, daddy smile.

after you
vibrated my core,
showed me the secret of
weighing liquid
in troy ounces,
cooked me eggs.

after you said you would
work with me through
my trigger, to
find life past it, where i don’t
have to stop
every time i get so hot
my body rebels.

after you
told me you
“fucked kinky, dated vanilla”
whatever that means…

probably that
you’re actually much
too normal
for me to slut around with after all.

probably that
you give time to the
girls you can take home to mom.
and i promise you,
i don’t wanna meet anybody’s mother
again.

probably that maybe
something didn’t click, that you went
through the motions
(kink dynamo
daddy extraordinaire
sensual sadist)
with amazing efficacy of demeanor
that had me slightly smitten.

probably that
i could see a way
where our two minds could meet
and we could learn
and laugh
and fuck, but
you couldn’t.

but really, i think,
after you saw
red wine, secondhand, on
your white marble floor,
after you saw
my undignified husk,
convulsing, sick and
teary-eyed, on the warm
wood in the bedroom

of your
white picket fence home
next door to soccer moms
who don’t know
you put a chain in my cunt
you put a cane on my ass
you put a knife on my skin.

i don’t think you could un-see it.
i don’t think i could un-feel it:

still, now, retroactively, mortified
that i did this all over again.

Poems I’ll Never Send My Tinder Dates: The Pinball Wizard

[CW: This is sexually explicit.]

******
******

to the guy
who made me melt by
catching my eyes and
winking
with an affectionate grin
while his cock was in my throat:

when i danced and
shit talked your router while i
adjusted your wifi settings
(only because
i offered)
you stuck your head in from
the balcony, and, with
understated gusto, said,
“i like you.”

the time you spent
plying my nipples with fingertips
while I stroked your cock
in traffic
surprised me with how much
intense pleasure
i derived from
my breasts
alone.

i love the way you deftly
wind my ponytail around your hand
before you pull my hair.
i savored the way
it made my
entire
cunt
tingle
like electrical static
as you controlled my head that way
and sucked my lower lip ’til
i whimpered.

and i love that,
while you didn’t use dominant words,
you still expressed it
with firm, decisive touch,
guiding me to what you wanted,
and never pushing back
if i had to pull away.

i sucked
the shaft of fire
between my lips
as you watched.
trent reznor singing,
“there is no fucking you
there is only me,”

as I pumped my
fist and
moved my
lips and
curled my
tongue
over every vein.

i rode you
until my knees protested,
twisting and writhing
as you squeezed my tits,
making my cunt clench around you,

until there was no you
there was no me
there was only fucking you
and I could live in that moment
forever.

Poems I’ll Never Send My Tinder Dates: The Tiger

[CW: This is sexually explicit.]

*****
*****

to the guy who kissed
like his presence in my life,
which is
fucking THERE:
occupy as much of me
as you desire.

when you held me
you cradled me
in your arms, with
no stress, no hesitation.
our embrace had
no preparation
no trepidation
only desire
tinged with tenderness,

while your tongue
made your presence known
behind my lips
and in my brain.

every night i
cup my hand over my vulva while I
think about your mouth and
your arms around me as i grew
hotter and
squirmier and
needier and
deliciously small in a way
that almost felt new.

i remember
the quick dip of your hips
as the tip
of your cock
hit delicious places while
filling the hungry, empty spaces
in my cunt,
zones of intense pleasure
i barely remembered i had.

and my thumb traces
my lower lip
as i think about it wrapped
’round the head of your dick,
tightly across the edges of your
latex-shrouded cock
slick with my juices.

condoms would all taste better
if they were me-flavored,
but every night i put my fingers in
my mouth, and I think,
“they’d probably be better
if they were you-flavored.”

Poems I’ll Never Send My Tinder Dates: The Freedom Fighter

Hi gang!

One day I will write a long post about my move and my new life. I will not be doing that today.

This evening I did a video interview with Nicholas Tanek of Your Kinky Friends, so check it out here! We discussed gender, kink, my most embarrassing sex story (CW for vomit), my favorite toys, sex blogging (with some advice for new bloggers!), and some delicious word association. Also, if you enjoy the work of everyone taking part in YKF, give them a follow on Twitter: @FriendsKinky

The other thing I’ll leave you with is the start of a new series: Poems I’ll Never Send My Tinder Dates.

CW: this is sexually explicit.


to the guy who kissed
like he wanted to crawl inside me:
i want you inside me too.

i want to relive
the way you seized me
through my anticapitalist melody,
and kissed me like
you couldn’t resist me,
all-consuming –

everything you’re doing is
(so good) on the mouth,
making heat flood every
single
solitary
inch of me
south of the
waist, where your hands wander
up my skirt again.

i want to pull back
your foreskin,
you’ll spread your legs
to let me in
to the warmest,
tightest
part of you,

like i want you inside me too.

Pros and Cons: The Golden Age of Hookups

I have a theory that we are entering the golden age of hookups. Technology has given us the means to find people to have sex with more easily than we ever could have in the past. Twenty five years ago, you went to bars or book clubs. You put out personal ads or bonded over BBS. In the year 2017, you can literally find strangers to have sex with using a phone. I’ve begun fleshing out this theory by examining a few of the pros and cons of hookup culture in 2017.

Photo of a Chinese woman and man in dress clothes kissing on a balcony in front of beautiful orange fireworks.
Photo by Jeremy Wong on Unsplash.

This shit is easy.

Pro: Oh. My. God. This is so easy! I can sign up for websites like sexwithnostrings.com/us/meet-and-fuck from my couch. I can browse Tinder when I’m in the car. I can use text messages to talk dirty to someone from the toilet, if I desire.

Con: Oh. My. God. Does nobody put any effort into this because it’s so easy? Apparently ease of use is a pass to do the absolute bare minimum to get laid. Which, like, that’s fine, you do you, and I’ll do me, but I wish that dating and hookup sites had an option for me to check saying that my potential matches had to at least demonstrate a little effort. Filling out a profile with words that actually tell me something about you is a good start.

The internet is a kinkster’s paradise.

Pro: You can meet some super fucking kinky people. The low-stakes nature of sites and apps during the Golden Age of Hookups means that people are so much more likely to be up-front about their kinks and desires. It’s way easier to ask somebody to drink your piss if you didn’t even have to change out of your pajamas to do it and you’ve got five other matches messaging you. I have way more luck finding people who will admit that they like erotic asphyxiation online than I’ve ever had finding them in person.

Con: You can also meet people who are super boring. Sometimes these people are also kinky, and maybe they’re just otherwise boring. Their interests don’t catch my eye (which is fine, I just don’t match with them) or they aren’t good conversationalists, or they’re bad at sexting.

I haven’t sexted a ton of people since joining Tinder – in fact, only one person has made the mistake of trying to sext me, thus far. It was a mistake because he was super bad at it, and he disqualified himself when he kept bringing up transgender people like they were fetish objects. (Admitting you’re nonbinary on Tinder apparently attracts a ton of chasers.) I don’t know if “you do all the work and I’ll tell you I like it” is standard sexting strategy for cis dudes on Tinder, or if this guy in particular was just really dull, but basically all he did was ask me questions about things I’ve done that he was clearly beating off to in between two word replies. For someone who talks openly about sex on the internet, these conversations are *not* masturbation material for me. This is boring, run of the mill stuff. Me telling him this was no more intimate than me tweeting about it, and I don’t masturbate to the stuff I tweet from Sugarcunt.

If I wanna jerk off thinking about the people I’ve had sex with in the past, I’ll do so without stopping to text some rando the story every few minutes. If someone tries sexting me and they’re bad at it, they’ve ruined their chances of meeting me in person. I’m turned off by boring, low-effort sexting. If you’re a shit sexter who can’t be bothered to say something that will turn me on, why would I want to see what you’re like in person? Exactly.

A wider net.

Pro: You’re not limited to people in your immediate local area. While the point of most hookup apps and sites is to meet and fuck, not everyone is looking to get together in person immediately, if at all. Some people are content to have distance hookups and relationships, and those are totally legitimate too! Not being limited to people in your town, state, or even your timezone can be a super amazing thing, especially if you live in a remote area where you don’t have a lot in common with the locals, like I used to. This allows you to find a relationship that you can fit into your schedule, too. You know what sucks about dating when you’re on the graveyard shift? Trying to get together with daywalkers. You know what you can do in the golden age of hookups? Date somebody in another timezone. You may not fuck together in person often, but I promise you, it is refreshing to find someone that wants to fuck you who is on a similar sleep schedule.

Con: Managing a relationship with a person in another timezone can be difficult, especially if you *aren’t* on the same wake/sleep schedule that they are. Long distance relationships (LDRs) aren’t for everyone, and while it’s awesome that LDRs have been greatly enhanced by modern technology, that time difference will foil even the best-laid plans sometimes. You have to honestly evaluate whether you can maintain a relationship in the face of those difficulties. If you can, it can be an amazing thing. If you can’t… well, set the allowed distance for your potential matches really low.

This golden age idea has been so fascinating for me, and it’s been on my mind a lot lately, especially thinking about how dating has changed so rapidly in the past few years. I’m going to explore this topic further in the upcoming months. If you have any thoughts about this topic that you’d like to share, I’d love to read them! Comment below, tweet me, or e-mail me at sugarcunt [at] sugarcuntwrites.com!

This post was sponsored, but all opinions and experiences shared are my own.

What I Want out of Showtime’s “Submission”

Showtime teased and intrigued many of us with its trailer for Submission, which airs tomorrow (May 12th). Even people I know who aren’t as into kink have expressed interest in it, which makes sense to me… after all, it’s about sex, and plenty of folks are probably kind of open to different kinds of sex acts that they have no desire to practice in real life. That’s the beauty of fantasy. I think a lot of vanilla people are going to watch Submission unless they outright hate kink/BDSM or find it triggering.

I’m definitely going to watch it. I want to see what it’s like. How will it shape up compared to the well-loved (and totally shitty, in my opinion) 50 Shades of Grey? Will it portray people practicing Risk-Aware Consensual Kink? Will there be negotiation? How heavy will the bondage and impact play be? What will the characters be like?

It’s so hard to get what I want from mainstream portrayals of BDSM. People are naturally complex. Some people come to the BDSM and kink community after trauma has happened and use it to work through/past those experiences and the marks they’ve left, and it’s unrealistic to pretend that everyone goes into a scene centered and emotionless. Trauma can play into a person’s kinky/sex life in a huge way, and that may or may not result in unethical or unsavory behavior. I feel like we should be able to have complex characters and explore their stories, and I feel like we should see them make mistakes, but we shouldn’t pretend that a troubled past is to blame for mistakes and shittiness. Some people are just shitty.

I want to see characters who may be flawed, but who learn from their experiences. But mainstream media so often does a disservice to the complexity of human beings in minority demographics, so those of us who see behind the BDSM stereotypes revile Christian Grey, and those of us who don’t understand abusive dynamics in relationships end up celebrating Christian Grey: a controlling, jealous, abusive asshole who hides behind a dominant persona because his mom didn’t love him enough or whatever. So many 50 Shades fans think Christian’s possessiveness is “romantic,” and that his rough childhood is what drew him to “sexual deviance,” and that it validates “why he is that way.”

I do not want to see a Christian Grey in Submission.

Here’s what I want to see in Submission: I want to see someone who didn’t come to BDSM solely because of a “fucked-up” past. I want to see someone who respects boundaries and doesn’t feel compelled to track their submissive’s every movement. I want to see a submissive enthusiastically explore what kink has to offer. Hell, maybe the submissive should be the one with more experience – that would certainly change the typical BDSM narrative dynamic. Real life BDSM isn’t The Story of O over and over again.

I don’t know what the psychological dynamics will be like, but what I’m seeing in the trailer is a cast that appears to be composed of white, skinny cisgender people. I want more than that! I would lap up a show with a diverse cast – people of color, people with disabilities, trans and nonbinary people, people with bodies bigger than size 4, 8, or even 12. I want to see a show where characters talk about power dynamics in the context of American racism, where handicapped-accessible dungeons exist, where gender is disregarded or actively fucked, and where fat bodies are celebrated.

I’m not under the illusion that I’ll get this from Submission, but I think an inclusive series or film with humanized BDSM that is deliberate, careful, and powerful would have a huge impact. Somebody get on that because it will make a difference for a whole lot of people. In the meantime, we’re seeing representation in erotica, and I’m thankful for authors like Xan West, who sees us – the minorities – and gives us a voice. If you’re interested in heavy, kinky, well-written erotica, you can check out my review for West’s recent story collection titled Show Yourself to Me, and if you’re into the sound of that then you should absolutely buy it to support West’s work.

6 Clickbait Articles From Sex Blogger World

We all know clickbait when we see it. It’s any vague headline that goads you into clicking it to read more details. It’s everything Upworthy has ever published. It’s every listicle EVER. But what if we had sex blogger clickbait? What if sex bloggers had our own Buzzfeed? (hehe, buzz… vibrators… get it?) Here’s exactly what that would look like:

5 SCARY FACTS ABOUT RIMMING

  1. It’s an asshole
  2. It’s an asshole
  3. It’s an asshole
  4. It’s an asshole
  5. Poop comes out of there
Author’s note: I am actually pro-analingus, but I encourage you to go about it as safely as you can! Safe sex can still be totally hot, and a dental dam (with some lube) is the perfect rimming accessory to make sure you don’t run afoul of any fecal bacteria, STIs, or exposure to blood.

3 PLACES YOUR PARENTS SHOULD HAVE HIDDEN THEIR VIBRATORS WHEN YOU LIVED AT HOME

  1. The side of the kitchen sink with dirty dishes (You would never have looked there)
  2. The laundry room (You would never have looked there either)
  3. Your room (Let’s be real, that room didn’t get cleaned until you left for college and they turned it into a home gym)

Tantus T-Rex dildo in front of laundry basket filled with socks

MAN REMOVES BUTT PLUG AND MAKES A SHOCKING DISCOVERY

Shit happens.

Joffrey Baratheon from Game of Thrones frowning and shrugging

ONE WEIRD TRICK TO MAKE YOUR CISHET DUDEBRO TRY A DILDO

Google search result for "prostate massage"

HUSBAND MAKES DOE EYES AT WIFE’S NEW STRAP-ON (CUTE)

Screenshot from Pom Poko of a shirime (body with eye for an anus) coming out of a trash can and startling a woman.

Screenshot from Pom Poko

3 SEX TOYS YOU NEVER NOTICED IN YOUR FAVORITE DISNEY FILMS

Screenshot from the Disney animated film Snow White showing Grumpy the dwarf with his nose circled and a photo of the Tenga Iroha Sakura in the bottom right corner

Picture of Ariel from the Disney animated movie The Little Mermaid with her fist circled and a picture of the Belladonna's Bitch Fist sex toy in the corner

Photo of Herbie the love bug with an image of a screenshopped BS dildo

The Little Vagina That Couldn’t: A Depression Story

If you ever look at my website, you can tell when I’m not updating. You have eyes. Old posts linger. Your feed reader’s section for my website never has updates. You don’t get e-mails with new posts. It’s because of my mental health – specifically my depression.

When some of us (who shall remain nameless even though it’s our blog) are depressed, brushing our teeth is too hard. Taking a shower is too hard. Getting out of bed is a cruel joke, but eventually has to happen. So as you can imagine, writing is not my first priority when I’m depressed. But when I feel like this, do you know what’s even further behind writing? Sex. Sex with myself. Sex with other people. It’s all a disaster waiting to happen. I will cry if you try to have sex with me right now. It is an inevitability.

I just don’t want sex anymore. Which sucks because I still love sex as a topic and an abstract thing. I still love my dildos. I still love the sex educator/blogger/positive community. I love making my partner feel good and participating in intimate activities with him. But my body has zero interest in these things anymore, and it’s spreading to my mind. When I do say, “Gee, maybe I should masturbate to see if I still have genitals,” I just use a vibrator, remember that my genitals exist, and then just feel largely ambivalent about what I just did to myself. Actually, that’s a lie now. I am too dysfunctional/tired/lazy to charge my vibrators (don’t laugh at me). I have been masturbating with my hands for two months.

It’s so frustrating because I don’t know why. I know why I’m depressed (my brain chemistry blows), I know that my depression and/or medications are probably affecting my libido, but I have no real explanation for the loss of mental interest in my own sex life. My best theory is that my body being so disinterested and uncooperative has just deterred me from the whole rigmarole. Maybe I am so eager to avoid bawling every time someone tries to go down on me that I am just training myself to avoid the activity altogether.

I’m working with a therapist and seeing improvements in some areas of my life, but we’re not really focused on my sex life right now because I have a whole ball of other trauma/issues/anxieties to address before the luxury of my genital interactions. I mean, if I have to prioritize things I need to fix with my mental health care professionals I think the pecking order is:

  1. Addressing my executive dysfunction so I can take care of myself like a normal human instead of living like a feral child who is too lazy to even hunt for food and has resigned herself to living off whatever she can find that doesn’t need to be cooked. Like ants or crickets. Or slices of cheese rolled up in turkey. Or individually-wrapped chocolates. And forget utensils, because today I drank applesauce with a straw to avoid washing a spoon
  2. Eliminating or dealing with restlessness and other GAD symptoms
  3. Assorted coping skills
  4. Getting me driving again without having a panic attack at the very thought of it
  5. Leaving the house on my own
  6. Whatever is left
  7. Sex

It’s not that sex isn’t important, it’s just that being a functional person who can go to the grocery store is probably more important. My husband understands, so it’s not like my relationship is under stress because I’m not masturbating or letting him go down on me. In fact, my relationship is great.

Don’t worry. I still have notes from older toys that I can write reviews for. And maybe one day I’ll get a hankering to use a dildo! So there’s writing to be done, I just need to be capable of doing it, and I’m working on that. After all, I’m writing this. Gold star for me!

The Impact of Mental Illness on my Sex Life

Lots of people have taken the time to start and contribute to the conversation about depression and sex. Crista and JoEllen are two big names in the realm of sex and depression. Crista founded #OrgasmQuest and received national attention for it, and JoEllen is writing a book called, “The Monster Under the Bed: Sex, Depression & The Conversations We Aren’t Having”. Just last week they ran a panel at Woodhull’s Sexual Freedom Summit called “The Monster Under The Bed: Starting the Conversation About Sex and Depression“. With that in mind, they’ve pretty extensively covered depression and sex a lot more adequately than I ever will.

Back in 2012 Epiphora wrote about losing two weeks of her sex life to Zoloft, a common prescription for anxiety and depression.

Girly Juice has written about her anxiety a few times, most notably some very good advice about anxiety and dating.

Lorax of Sex wrote about why they sometimes don’t write because of living with bipolar disorder, depression, anxiety, PTSD, and compulsive disorders.

Sarah wrote about stopping SSRIs how it has affected her life.

I have bipolar 2, generalized anxiety disorder, and agoraphobia, and I can pinpoint the ways that each of them has affected my relationship with my sex life.

I have been party to both major depressive episodes and bipolar depression. When I was majorly depressed, I usually had no interest in sex, because I had no interest in anything that didn’t involve sleeping or crying. With bipolar depression (which I’m medicated for), my desire for sex is almost nonexistent, and what I do sexually tends to reflect that. If I masturbate, I do it as quickly and as uncomplicatedly as possible, and it’s usually out of habit. This go around I haven’t masturbated in over a month and a half. I have so little interest in masturbation right now that I can’t even bring myself to do it. Mentally I am so unprepared for sex that when my husband tries to initiate it, I’ll have a go at participating to see if I fall into the mood, but usually the attempt comes to an abrupt halt because I start crying. When I’m having depressed sex my mind isn’t in it, and it makes me feel vulnerable and defective.

I find myself almost exclusively depressed as a bipolar person. My hypomanic phases are terribly infrequent, which is a shame because I’m convinced that my hypomania is how non-mentally-ill people feel all the time, other than the decreased need to sleep and mildly impaired judgment. I feel sexually motivated and powerful when I’m hypomanic. I masturbate with a wide range of tools when I’m hypomanic. I want to have sex with more edge play when I’m hypomanic. I thought polyamory was a good idea when I was hypomanic, only to find that I was too exhausted and had no interest in maintaining multiple relationships once I came down.

My anxiety disorder comes into play in sex, too. If I’m having a particularly anxious day, I’ll have a hard time focusing on sex. I’ll become unexpectedly and irrationally insecure, and worry about weird things, like how my orgasm face looks, or what if I say the wrong name. The latter worry is the strangest, because it’s not like I fantasize about other people during sex – it’s just a fear I’ve always had about having sex. I’ll be hyper-aware of my body size and too afraid of hurting my partner to really enjoy intercourse. On the whole, anxiety makes me entirely too tense to have sex. Some people fuck to unwind, but the very idea of fucking will just wind me up more.

My agoraphobia seems like a strange thing to include here, but it really does affect my sex life. Lately I’ve noticed that, even in a depressive state, I’m able to get aroused when I’m not staying in my own home. An unwillingness to leave the house and inability to go anywhere alone has made my world quite small. All of my stress, worries, and emotions live at home. It’s my escape from the horrors of the outside world, but since it’s where I am 24/7 it’s where I face all of my internal horrors. I don’t get much in the way of housework, hobbies, self-care, or even work-work done at home, and the tasks I’ve procrastinated on loom over me no matter what room I’m in. My home is the nexus of my stress. I am starting to think that I can’t fuck in the nexus of my stress… and frankly, I don’t know what to do about it.

I don’t know how much of my ruined sex drive is the result of my mental illnesses and how much can be attributed to the medications treating them, but I need the medication, so I can’t quit my pills just to salvage my sex life. I miss desiring sex. I miss the intimacy and joy of having sex with my partner. I miss the fun of using my toy collection and testing new products. I don’t have the money to see a therapist, so I’m left to sort it out on my own, and it’s not working. How can I get my sex life back on track?