All posts by August In Flux

Debunking the Three-Date Rule

Having a script for how we’re supposed to behave can be a great security blanket. Someone asks, “How are you?,” and you say, “Fine.” You see someone you haven’t seen in a while, and you say, “Well, it was great running into you,” at the end of the conversation. These social scripts smooth out social interactions.

Limiting the possibilities for our interactions to these scripts can cause trouble, though, and the biggest arena I see this trouble play out is in the world of sexual relationships. The dating world is ripe with confusion regarding how we’re supposed to behave versus how we need to actually behave in order to have healthy and satisfying relationships. In the realm of dating, the timing of sexual acts is frequently seen as one of the indicators of how serious a relationship is, or as a predictor of how long the relationship will last (i.e. “why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?”). So let’s just take a few minutes to debunk one of the most common dating scripts: the three-date rule.

What is the Three-Date Rule and Who Uses It?

The three-date rule states that one must wait three dates to have sex with a new partner. This rule plays on some very basic assumptions we make about sexuality in general. First off: this rule applies almost exclusively to heterosexual people. Queer folks have their own stereotypical rules of dating (like gay men and one-night-stands, or lesbians and U-Hauls*), most of which contradict heteronormative sex rules.

Responsibility and Shame

Because this rule applies mostly to straight folks, it heightens the gendered expectations in relationships. The three-date rule plays on the idea that men always want sex, while women are the gatekeepers, which puts women in charge of men’s sexuality and causes a whole slew of problems. If women are in charge of whether or not men have sex, it takes all the responsibility for acting like compassionate human beings out men’s hands and likens them to animals, acting out of instinct and completely incapable of reason. Besides being demeaning to men, this mindset also supports rape culture, because it creates the reasoning that if a man rapes a woman, then she must have done something to open the gate. She must have flirted with him, or worn a short skirt and heels, or taken the ring off her finger—because those are signs that “gate is open—man can have sex now!” (Do me a favor and read that in a caveman voice, because that’s exactly how devolved this mindset is.)

Another problem caused by the notion of women as gatekeepers of sex is the denial of female sexuality. Men are not the only people made stupid by the human drive for sex. Many of us have felt that brain-fog when our crush in junior high noticed us, or that rush of “I don’t care what happens afterward” right before that first kiss. At the very least, we’ve seen people swoon over each other in movies. It’s a human thing, not a guy thing. Female bodies are actually more responsive to sexual stimuli, and denying that lends support to the shame surrounding female sexuality. Imagine taking shame out of the equation surrounding sex—how much freedom would come from it?

Now take that lack of shame and put it into the three-date rule. It doesn’t fit, does it? That’s because the three-date rule is centered around “appropriate” and “proper” times for women to say yes to sex, when in reality there is no “proper” time. There’s only the time that fits well for that given relationship. For some partners, sex is the first thing to happen, and the getting-to-know-you bit happens much later. For other couples, one or both partners need an established emotional intimacy before anything remotely sexual gets introduced. And for a large amount of the U.S. dating population, we need something in between those two. Hard and fast rules don’t work when we apply them to very individual and unique contexts.

To Each Their Own

I like to think of each new relationship in my life like water: it seeks its own level. Each relationship is like a different container, but ultimately the surface is level because I’m seeking the same respect and love. Sometimes that love comes in the form of sex, sometimes in the form of abstinent cuddles. Ultimately, whether or not I have sex with someone depends greatly on a number of factors, predominantly chemistry and trust, not on how many dates we’ve had.

Side Note: the following are tales of three loves. I am purposely avoiding gendered pronouns because no matter how enlightened you are, everyone puts gendered expectations and explanations onto simple “he/she” language. I’m disallowing you, dear reader, to assume I’m treating a given partner a certain way based on their gender as part of my exercise in debunking this dating rule.

The first lover, I hated right off the bat. I thought they were an arrogant know-it-all, and I couldn’t have been less impressed with them. A year later, we met in a different context, and I found that we actually had a lot of similar life experiences. We got to talking and I loved the way they thought about things. I started running into them at clubs, and finally one night, amidst the pulsing bass and the crush of hot bodies, we kissed. And, oh my—that kiss. That’s how it went for several months: meet up with friends at clubs, dance, kiss, go home. Then, one night in November, our friends were heading out and I knew: tonight was going to be the night. …which frankly sucked, because I was sick with a cold, and I knew that I should be home in bed, having soup and going to sleep early. But this person wanted me to come out—texted me specifically to make sure I was going—and I knew that if I went, I’d get laid. We met at the club, we danced all night, we drove back to their place, and we spent the night entangled in each other. No official dinner-and-a-movie dates involved. We’d spent copious hours in discussion groups, in hangouts with friends, in all the getting-to-know-you moments with other people around, and it wasn’t necessary for us to date before having sex. I knew how they took care of their sexual health, how many partners they’d had, and their STI status before we had sex, and to me, that was more important than waiting for three “official” dates.

I met the second lover through the first. My first impression of this lover was that I wanted nothing more than spend many long hours having glorious, athletic sex with them—they were the athlete, not me. I started getting to know this one very slowly as the end of my first sexytimes week with my first lover rolled around. My first time with this lover was actually a threesome with my first lover as well, which was nice because I was still recovering from being sick and having someone else there gave me a little bit of the rest I needed. Two years of having sex later, my second lover and I finally went on a date. But we did it completely backwards from how dates are “supposed” to go. You know that script for dinner-movie-sex-walk of shame? I went over to their place the night before, and we had sex, started the movie, slept, woke up, had sex again, showered, and then went out for breakfast and a walk around the park. For us, the sex needed to happen first in order to get to the point where we felt comfortable enough talking about the rest of life.

I met my third lover, the most recent, through a mutual friend. This lover was just out of a long-term relationship, and I figured I was going to be the rebound. We started out having chaperoned dates with our mutual friend as the buffer, because we did not know each other at all. A few dates in, we took off the training wheels and went on our first un-chaperoned date. I remember sitting on my hands so that we would actually talk. Similar to my second lover, the chemistry between us was electric and I found it difficult to do the get-to-know-you bit with my tongue down their throat. We started having manual sex before they were tested, and after we knew the results, we proceeded on to the many other types of sex.

I specify manual sex here to highlight another shortcoming of the three-date rule: it doesn’t define “sex.” Many people tend to think of “getting laid” as penis-in-vagina sex, but there are a whole range of sex acts that can be considered “sex” (i.e. manual, oral, anal). What one person classifies as “sex” may be completely different and no less valid than what another person calls “sex,” and waiting on one type in particular doesn’t mean you aren’t having sex in general.

Looking back at the rest of my dating life, I have never followed the three-date rule, and you know what? I’m still here, I’m still standing, and I’m only as slutty as I call myself. I am living proof that the timing of sex between two people does not revolve around what other people think. I expect my partners to be responsible for their own sex drive, and respectful of my humanity, and I think that’s a much better rule for when to have sex than measuring out three dates.

* Author’s Note: The jokes typically run along these lines: “What does a gay man bring on a second date? …What second date?” (Because gay male culture is stereotyped as only capable of one-night stands.) “What does a lesbian bring on a second date? A U-Haul.” (Because lesbians are notorious for moving in together very quickly after starting to date.) Warning: if you are straight and you tell these jokes, that is considered homophobic. 

Photo by Sara Slattery

Photo by Sara Slattery

Being the Sancha

“She be wifed up for not even a hot minute and she already lookin’ for a sancha.”

Coming from a small university town and moving to the big city was an adjustment in many ways, the least of which was the language.

“A what?” I asked. Thankfully, this friend was my Urban Dictionary: the one who recognized I was a little white girl from the middle class who knew virtually nothing of slang.

“A sancha*—you know, a woman on the side. Sancho, a man on the side—like that.”

“Oh, like Sancho Panza from Don Quixote!”

“Yeah, okay.” Complete with weird look of “Nerd.” Little did I know I was about to spend the next year being the sancha three times over.

A few months later, I hooked up with a woman from my hometown. We spent a fabulous weekend in bed, followed by promises to meet up again once I returned to school, since school wasn’t too far away from home. I got back to school only to experience radio silence for the next week. Finally, I saw on Facebook that she had gotten back together with her ex. She’d never mentioned they were talking. This was my first experience being the person on the side: not too bad, granted, but I still felt sucker-punched upon finding out that I had been played. See, I’m usually fine with keeping things casual, seeing other people, whatever. But if someone’s going to leave out facts to make the situation seem simpler, well, that’s lying by omission in my book, and I’m not okay with being lied to.

A little while later, I made a Mistake. It was one of those mistakes that I knew was a mistake going in, but I still had to do it. A friend of mine had recently come back into my life after a long hiatus. He was one of those people that would go MIA once he was in a relationship and the rest of us would only see him again after the relationship started to go sour. He and I had long-standing sexual chemistry, and him showing up on my doorstep was no coincidence. He said he was still in a relationship, but that he was in the process of talking his girlfriend into opening up. (Open and polyamorous relationships are a pretty common thing in my world, so this didn’t come as a surprise.) We hung out all night, the air thick with unsaid wants, and if there had been matches anywhere near, I’m pretty sure one spark would’ve sent us up in flames. The next night he came back, but I wouldn’t let him in until he cleared it with his girl. I knew I wanted him enough that I wouldn’t care that he had a girlfriend once he came up. He told me he sent her a text with the request, and read the reply aloud, “I don’t care—do what you want.” Now, most monogamous people would take that as, “You do and I’ll kill you,” but in my world, where people say what they mean and sleeping with people outside the primary relationship is both okay and common, I was thrilled. A hot, kinky, sweaty, sexy hour later, I found out the text had actually come from his best friend. His girlfriend had not signed off, and I was officially the other woman. Like I said, I’m not okay with being lied to—I didn’t talk to him for another nine months.

Not long after this Mistake, I found myself in the most egregious of all my sancha-ing. I was heading back home for the summer break and I wanted a snazzy summer boyfriend. I had just the guy in mind: dark wavy hair, dark eyes, killer smirk, an edgy streak and a great sense of humor. Problem was, he and his girlfriend, while having been on the rocks for a year, were still together. My actions here are the most heartless I have ever committed. I wanted him. I knew they were going to break up, but I wanted them to break up on my timeline, so I could have him for the summer. Everything fell exactly into place a mere two weeks behind my preferred schedule, and he and I were together. I called him my boyfriend, we were together with all of my friends, but every time we saw someone he had known with his ex, we were “just friends.” This might sound trivial, but it’s a small town, so most of the time we were in public, we were closeted. Here I was in an opposite-sex pairing and we were closeted. Oh, the irony.

As everything was falling into place with this boy, I had this odd feeling that I should feel guilty, but I didn’t. Rather, I felt guilty that I didn’t feel more guilt. I knew I was hurting this girl, but from everything I knew of their relationship and the horrible way she treated him, I felt justified. I was offering him the kindness she didn’t show him, the love that she refused to give him. I did not think highly of her, and my strongest emotion towards her was apathy.

Three months later, Summer Boy and I broke up, right on schedule. It took me a while to process the anger that I felt about the relationship, but once I did, I realized some important Life Lessons:

  1. By golly, it’s not good to thwart the intentions of the universe! I was able to make events unfold exactly how I wanted them, despite all the signs that said I shouldn’t do it, and I wound up with a thoroughly unsatisfying relationship.
  2. Being referred to as “Her” feels like I’m some evil deity. And as much as I like things going my way, I don’t really like feeling like the villain in my own story.
  3. Respect is not necessary for relationships, but it is necessary for good relationships. I didn’t respect any of us involved—the boy, the girl, or myself. I was playing with power that wasn’t mine to take, and that was a misuse of my humanity and integrity.

 

I can already hear the outrage of some of you reading this: “How could you hurt that poor girl like that?!” “Have you no shame?!” And my answers are: relatively easily, and no. Self-interest makes a lot of things very easy, and shame is a useless emotion. I did not feel shame at the time these events unfolded, and I feel no shame now, looking back. I know many people will want me to feel ashamed of my actions, but if I were a man who had broken up an abusive relationship to get with a woman, I would be hailed as a hero. If I felt shame for all these situations still, all these years later, I would not have actually learned anything. The lessons are worth more to me than self-flagellation.

Of all them, the most important lesson in my own development, though, was my realization that I’m actually okay with me making mistakes. Being the perfectionistic Virgo that I have been for so much of my life has kept me on a pretty short leash, and I think my series of sancha-ing was my own rebellion against myself—my way of proving that I can fuck up and be okay, and still think of myself as a good person overall. I can have those moments (or months) of selfishness and not think less of myself.

I recognize my mistakes, and I learn from them, but I refuse to dwell.

Author’s Note: The term “sancha” is used here as insider language, which means that because of my history with Mexican / Latino culture and because of the cultural and racial diversity within my social circle during the time of these events, I am using the permission of my own Latino-American community to call myself a sancha. This does not give White people in general permission to use such terms, nor does it give me permission to appropriate other people’s cultures willy-nilly. Feel free to continue this conversation in the comments.

Photo by Meggyn Watkins

Photo by Meggyn Watkins

Me and My Strap-On

I wasn’t born with my dick. In fact, it took me about three years, lots of money, and a lot of emotional baggage to get it. Now I have it, and I love it, and as I write this, it’s sitting happily on my nightstand: my own phallic muse.

As a budding bisexual at 18, I thought I had done my research on my new queer world. Really, I was just starting to learn about the infinite possible ways to describe myself. I picked up fun words like “queer,” “transgender,” “genderqueer,” “femme,” “butch,” and all sorts of different definitions that people give them. My partner at the time was female-bodied and male-minded, so a lot of my first sexual experiences focused on how to make her dick real for both of us. It was actually really easy. Pretty much anything we wanted could become her dick, given the right mindset. Being incredibly broke lent itself to great ingenuity on both our parts: fingers, cucumbers, even double-bagged rice-stuffed condoms became the dick-fantasy part of our play. (It should be noted that much of this ingenuity stemmed from my then-partner’s punk-DIY attitude, and although it is possible to make a strap-on harness out of bike tires, I would not recommend it.) It wasn’t until we broke up and I delved into an exploration of my new self outside of this relationship that I found some really important literature.

By literature, I obviously mean smut. Smut that triggered all of the internal stuff I’d been deliberately ignoring since I was six years old. After years of playing with trans-masculine folks and helping other people realize that their non-biological dicks were real and felt good and could induce orgasm, I read a smutty story and realized…. I wanted a dick. I get mentally sucked into stories easily, and this one felt so natural that it freaked me out. The characters in the story switched genders halfway through: the Big Bad Daddy became submissive, and the Femme Bottom became the Bad Boy topping. I went right along with that switch: I was the Femme Bottom who started topping halfway through the scene, her dick pumping in and out of her partner’s ass. I wanted to feel my dick during sex. Part of me really was that boy that I’d been ignoring for so long. I promptly freaked out, started crying, and put the book away, as one does when one is closeted from oneself.

Here’s the thing: strap-ons can be a pretty complicated issue, especially in the world of queer women. Some people are strongly in the camp of no-penetration; some people like it but would never in a million years want anything that looks remotely realistic; some people will only strap on if it is realistic. Not everyone who straps on is genderqueer, but it’s been consistent in my experience that if a female-bodied person is in the genderqueer (GQ) realm—that is, not strictly identifying as female—they are more likely to want or have a realistic-looking dildo. And everyone I had seen who identified as GQ had been masculine-presenting. So I was freaking out because I didn’t meet that idea of what I thought “genderqueer” was supposed to look like. But I was genderqueer. I knew I was because of how scared I felt to tell anyone. I look like a girl. I call myself femme. How could I come out as genderqueer? No one would believe me.

I felt ridiculous. Here I was, one of the most active queer students on my college campus, having defended time and time again people’s right to express who they are with whatever word fits for them, and I was scared to tell my best friends that I was genderqueer. I felt like a hypocrite: all that talk of being myself and living my truth, ffttt—gone. It took a little while, and some reading, and some emailing with the author of that smutty story, for me to come out to my friends, but eventually I did. It got easier each time, but I was still nervous about incorporating this part of me into sex.

As I got more comfortable with my identity, I started to think about getting my own strap. I’d strapped on with other people’s harnesses before, at their request, but this was the first time I was thinking of getting one for me. I was nervous. I’ve gone shopping for harnesses a few times now and, every time, I get embarrassed. I always walk in and head straight for the vibrators; for some reason, I’m much more comfortable around vibrators. After a little while, with much hand-holding from my designated support person, I walk over to the harnesses. Then, only after much staring and hand-holding, do I go to the desk and ask the staff for help.

Here’s some of what I learned during the search for my perfect strap:

  • Which material? Harnesses typically come in leather, but there are also fabric and rubber ones out there. Many times, the fabric and rubber ones are advertised as “vegan.” Fabric’s easier to clean, and sometimes the metal on the leather ones rusts after several uses.
  • Briefs, one strap, or two? Briefs come in your standard XS-S-M-L-XL, but they might stretch out a little depending on how much you sweat during sex and how often you use it. One strap means that the harness fits like a thong; two means it fits more like a jock strap. With one strap and brief styles, there’s limited access to the goodies underneath. Two straps opens up access to the goodies, and they tend to be more adjustable, but they don’t always have as much control.
  • Dildo: Realistic or not? For me, obviously, I wanted the realistic one, but some people like sparkly better. Texture is another big consideration: there’s more variation in non-realistic dildos, and the materials tend to be easier to clean than imitation-skin.
  • Material? Most dildos designed for strapping on are silicone, because it holds its shape under a variety of stressors, but other materials are available. “Dual-density silicone” is also out there, which means the inner core is hard and the outer layer is a little squishier, so it keeps its shape, but it’s not as hard going in. Anything silicone can be cleaned by boiling or with warm water and a sex toy cleaner, but the tricky part about imitation-skin is that everything sticks to it (pet hair, dust, etc.).  Elastomers and “gellies” are tricky that same way, but if you boil them, they’ll disintegrate. Unfortunately, because these materials are more porous, any cleaner will stay on them as well, so always use a condom with these ones. (Using condoms over any dildo will extend the life of the toy, too, so that’s just good practice.)
  • Lube? Choosing the right lube depends on the material of the dildo and in which bodily orifice you’ll be playing (i.e. silicone-based lube should not be used directly on silicone toys because it will disintegrate them, and only water-based lubes should be used with vaginas). Ask the staff for help if you’re uncertain. Dildos tend to dry up lube a lot faster than flesh-dicks do, so make sure you have some handy.
  • Dimensions? Choosing the girth is more important than the length, because you can control how much goes in, but if it’s too wide, it won’t fit at all.
  • O-rings? O-rings are the rings that hold the dildo in place. In most one- or two-strapped harnesses, the ring snaps on and you can change it out easily, which is nice if you have more than one dildo you want to use. O-rings for briefs are not easily changed out, but they are pretty flexible and can accommodate several sizes.

For beginners:

  • Start with one of the cheaper styles of harness and dildo so you don’t spend inordinate amounts of money only to find out you’re rather have another style.
  • Go to sex-positive stores, like Good Vibrations or Babeland, where the staff understands that sexy things can be embarrassing sometimes. Friendly and nonjudgmental staff went a long way to helping me feel comfortable when shopping for my still-slightly-closeted intimates.
  • Ask to try on whatever harness you’re considering in the store (over your clothes!) so you don’t go home with the wrong size. But not every store will let you, so know your hip, butt and thigh measurements before you go in.
  • You can buy harnesses online, but you won’t get a feel for the material, which can be important since it will be rubbing on sensitive skin, even when worn over undies. I suggest finding one in-store and looking for the same brand online to save your pockets from too bad a burn—straps can get expensive fast.
  • Jump-start your search:
    • Briefs: Rode-oh (for those with smaller hips) or Tomboi (for those with curvy hips)
    • One-strap: Simply Sexy
    • Two-strap: Malibu Terra Firma
    • Dicks: Silk (3 sizes, smooth), Mistress (smooth), Cadet (realistic silicone) and Mustang (realistic VixSkin)
    • Remember: searching for the name of your preferred dick or harness with “sale” and checking out online warehouses will also likely save you a couple bucks!

Ultimately, coming out as genderqueer has done wonders for my sex life. I was actually able to be upfront when I started dating the person who is currently my partner, which worked out even better than I expected because she turned out to be GQ, too! Sex with her sometimes feels like that movie Zerophilia (the main character switches sexes every time they come). I’ve gone through two harnesses and I’ve found the dick that fits me perfectly. It’s amazing how much better everything gets when I’m actually honest about who I am and what I want.

If a strap is what you want, I encourage you to strap on and enjoy the ride!

Photo by Sara Slattery

Photo by Sara Slattery