Category Archives: Sex

Sex

Me and My Strap-On

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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

Sex

We Don’t Know: Communicating Below the Belt

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There’s probably no feeling in the world more powerful than knowing you’re wanted, especially by somebody you want in return. That feeling in and of itself can serve as a pretty magical aphrodisiac. What you want is sexy, and what you’re going to get is sexy. Even if the first time you sleep with someone you really like isn’t that great, it still feels great because you were with a person you really wanted to be with. Hormones do all the dirty work. That’s just science. Sexy, sexy science.

But what about the next time you do the deed? What about six months down the line? Or heck, six years? We typically give our new paramours a mulligan if they don’t deliver the Cosmopolitan-front-page mindblowing orgasm we’re craving the first time around… But everyone reaches a point at which they absolutely must speak up. Your partner isn’t a mind-reader, even if they’ve gotten to know you insanely well in every other department. If there’s something you like better than other things, or if there’s something you really do not like at all—you need to use your words!

Ugh, but that’s the worst, isn’t it? That feeling of “Oh my God, if I ask her to do this thing, will she think I’m some kind of pervert?” or “If I tell him I don’t want to do it in that position anymore, will he be unable to have an orgasm? Am I ruining sex for him?” This kind of self-doubt can send anybody’s sexual confidence into a tailspin. And we all do it.

But here’s the surprising thing: you know that powerful feeling of being wanted by someone? There’s also that powerful feeling when you ask for something and you receive it. What a high that is! And what about when someone asks you to do something? Isn’t it sexy when a person knows what they want? Confidence is the most underrated turn-on in the history of mankind. Forget all the weird little things people focus on: sexy lingerie, gorgeous makeup, a body that’s a walking replica of Michael Phelps. In the end, if Michael Phelps’ twin can’t ask for what he wants in bed and autopilots through his sexcapades, he will be far, far less admirable than the regular Joe who worked up the nerve to ask his girlfriend for something kinky.

It can be scary to communicate and tell someone what you want in bed, whether it’s a confession about a secret fetish or even the simple “less that, more this.” But if you stay silent, your sex life (and as a result, your relationship or potential relationship) might never fire on all cylinders. Think of all that wasted potential! That’s no way to go through life, for either party. So find a way to say what you need to say, whether it’s in the heat of the moment or in a totally mundane setting. Whatever’s easiest for you, as long as you’re able to get brave and use your words. And who knows? You might learn some very interesting things about their desires as well, leading to better sex for everyone involved. Everyone wins, big time.

Readers, what are some awesome ways that people can learn to be more open with their partners? What has your experience been?

Photo by Andy Sutterfield

Photo by Andy Sutterfield

Sex

Oh Baby! Sex During & After Pregnancy

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The first time I saw D, I knew I had to have him. We worked at the same hotel, in different departments, and would flirt constantly. I would confidently tell my co-workers “I’m going to fuck him.” They would laugh, but I wasn’t joking—he was going to be mine. After a few months of flirting I finally had an opportunity to nonchalantly ask him out to a bar after work. It was a month before my twenty-first birthday and he snuck me in by giving a twenty to the bouncer (it’s like a bro-code: you have to help your fellow bro hook up with the underage girl by letting her into the bar). During the first few months of dating, all we did was eat, drink, and screw: it was bliss. When things got more serious, and people would ask when we were going to have kids, my boyfriend would always respond “We’re just practicing” and wink at me. But all of those years of practicing didn’t prepare us for the reality of sex after a baby.

I’ve always been DTF (if you have to look that up, I’m sorry) and was not at all concerned about getting down while pregnant. My boyfriend, on the other hand, got a bit apprehensive towards the end because the baby had dropped considerably and he didn’t want to “poke an eye out.”  Positions started to become a challenge with my ever-growing bump. Pregnant women are not supposed to lie on their backs (apparently as your uterus gets heavier, it can potentially cut off the circulation to a major vein going through your body), so that ruled out a couple of  standbys. Then, my belly got too big for me to be on top without it pushing into him and him feeling our daughter’s kicks, which totally freaked him out. But, overall, I remember very much enjoying myself, often even more so than our pre-pregnancy romps. The sex dreams weren’t bad either…

We tried to have “relations” before my due date because we knew it would be quite a while before we could again (longer than we had ever gone before… it was depressing to think about). Doctors recommend that women wait six weeks after giving birth to have vaginal intercourse again and I knew I couldn’t wait that long to get it on. After two weeks, neither of us wanted to wait any longer, but D had witnessed the distress my lady-parts had been put through, and, despite his desire, forced me to wait. We made it another week before we couldn’t take it anymore. I won’t go into vivid details, but it was really great—that is, until we changed positions, and my va-jay-jay was not having it. The most embarrassing part is that we had to put our daughter down in her swing on the floor, and she would not stop crying (she did eventually, but it was awkward for a little bit). Sometimes we have to take drastic measures to fulfill our carnal desires, I guess.

In those three weeks pre-nasty and post-baby, I started reading up on it a bit. I was shocked to find out that many new moms wait months, or even a year after giving birth to have sex with their partners again. It can be pretty difficult to feel sexy after having just pushed a tiny person out of your body, dealing with the pressure to lose the “baby weight,” earning chapped nipples from breastfeeding, and getting little to no sleep. Not to mention, a lot of women tear or rip during delivery (I did), which can make you feel damaged or insecure. I have accepted the fact that my vagina will never be the same, but I couldn’t be happier with what I gained. I did my kegels—and I will be perfectly honest that it took a while before it felt “normal” again downstairs. But, since then, sex has felt even better than before.

Even once the healing has completed, and your partner has patiently waited for his or her turn, another road block is put up: being a mom is a legitimate full-time job, especially in the beginning. Your newborn is 100% dependent on you, and your focus and all of your energy goes to them. There were countless nights where we would say that tonight would be the night we would have some “sexy time,” just to pass out not long after getting in bed. I can remember times when D would come up behind me and would try to start feeling me up and I would disregard him or push him away—totally consumed with cleaning the baby’s bottles and my breast pump for the next day so I could finally go to sleep. Some women are hardwired to put their offspring before anyone else, and their partners bear the burden of being forgotten. It took a long time for me to realize that I was being inadvertently negligent and wasn’t giving him the attention he needed in and out of the bedroom.

When you get down to it, sex is a big part of why you got together with your co-parent in the first place, and it’s how you made that screaming child who is now cock-blocking you from having more. Overcoming the exhaustion and chaos of post-baby life can be insanely difficult but, without intimacy, we would just be roommates or really good friends raising a kid together. At first, putting myself ahead of my child made me feel like a bad parent, but I continually remind myself that I can’t be the best mom I can be unless my needs and the needs of my partner are met, too. We may not be humping like rabbits anymore, but we do our best to keep the fire alive and our passion for each other strong through the many hurdles of parenting.

Photo by Willow Rose

Photo by Willow Rose

 

Sex

We Don’t Know: How Do You Define Your Sexuality?

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“For a lot of people, it’s nice to imagine that humans are simple, and that you can know a person’s sex, and then you will know all sorts of things about them deeply and clearly. And if you don’t fit into this nice little box people who do can get really confused and sometimes even angry—and if you yourself don’t fit into one of these nice little boxes and you think that people should, then you end up hating yourself. And that’s probably even worse. I think the best and maybe only way to solve this problem is for people to understand that there are no nice shiny boxes. Or, if there are shiny boxes, there are an infinite number of them, enough to put all of the people who currently exist, have ever existed, and will ever exist. So, together, let’s understand.” – Hank Green

What is sexuality? This is a complicated question. Wrought with personal, societal, political, religious, familial, cultural—we could go on and on—ideas and expectations. It’s not simple. It’s personal. And it’s incredibly complicated. Sometimes in our attempt to find enlightenment, we find a video that tackles answering a question like this so much better than anything we could write here.

In the following 3:48 video, Hank Green breaks down the complex differences between sexual orientation, sexual attraction, sexual behavior, romantic attraction, biological sex, gender roles, and gender identity. How we define ourselves is a unique combination of where we we fall in all of these independent categories.

http://youtu.be/xXAoG8vAyzI

But, as Hank reminds us, “Many people move across these spectrums, sometimes from year to year, sometimes hour to hour. But what’s really important is that we trust ourselves, and we understand ourselves, and we love and respect ourselves—and we grant that same understanding and respect to the people around us.”

Photo by Meggyn Watkins

Special Thanks to Nerdfigheria Wiki for the transcript of Hank’s video. Watch more Vlogbrothers here.

 

Sex

Nobody’s Perfect, Neither Is Sex!

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My boyfriend and I have been together for a year and a half. That is long enough for the flames of passion to turn into a mere flicker without a bit of effort. Nothing kills a good boner (of the lady or manly variety) quicker than pressure, self-consciousness, or criticism. The key to keeping sex hot while in relationship is to settle into the fact that you’re going to be doing this act with this person many, many, many, many times, so there’s no need to put pressure on any one roll in the hay to be the best in your lives. Instead, it’s about learning each other’s bodies and continually raising the bar.

You’re creating a sexual relationship with your partner and, like all relationships, it will require communication and a little effort to stay healthy and vibrant. The most toe-curling orgasms aren’t planned out: they sneak up on you. And like many things in life and nature, they’re ephemeral. Subtle differences in mood, context, and connection make each sexual encounter unique. The best we can do is set up an environment that invites this kind of magic.

Here are a few tips to fire up the action in your bedroom:

Unpack your bags. No matter your gender, if you’re over the age of 20 then it’s likely that you have some skeletons of the emotionally traumatic variety hanging out in your closet. It is helpful to know some things about your partner’s history. When you know what the body you’re touching has been through, you can touch that body in a way that subtly acknowledges those experiences. This can be incredibly healing and is the first step to clearing the slate for the relationship that you’re creating now.

The flip side: Don’t feel like you have to rush through this process! At a year and a half, my boyfriend and I are both still working on certain deeply ingrained beliefs and patterns.  If you’re suppressing a thought or feeling because you’re afraid your partner won’t understand, this is either a sign that you need to build the courage to speak up or a sign that this isn’t the right partner for you.

The male ego can be sensitive. In my experience, men often do not receive criticism in the moment very well. I’ve had more than one partner over the years ask me to please bring things up outside of the bedroom. It is so much easier to discuss the anatomical / mechanical aspects of sex when you’re not in the middle of doing them.

The flip side: Men, make sure your lady feels like she can talk to you. Lady parts are highly sensitive and personal preferences are as unique as finger prints; if you don’t encourage your partner to share these details with you (which may feel nitpicky if your ego is in the way), you’ll never fully understand how her body works.

The female sex drive is (often) a slow boil. Men, I suggest you make peace with this fact now. After the initial hump-like-bunnies phase, many women start to feel sexual urges in sync with their hormonal cycle. We’re horny when we’re most fertile, which is a bit of a catch-22 if you aren’t trying to make a baby. The key is to know how to warm your lady up in the in-between times. She may not want to jump your bones on sight, but if you check in with her there are probably many things you could do to heat things up. A few standard ideas: massage, cuddling, kissing, heavy petting, etc.

The flip side: Ladies, your man may sometimes need a reminder that you want him, really want him. Make sure you slow down and lavish your attention on him some of the time, too. It can help to make sure that you proposition him some of the time. Surprise BJs are another option for making your man feel extra happy.

Put your focus on your partner. When either partner is caught up thinking about their own wants and needs, he or she isn’t fully present. The quickest way to get out of your head? Stop thinking about yourself. Put your attention on pleasing your partner and all of a sudden you’ll feel your body light up, too.

The flip side: Don’t focus so much on your partner that you aren’t enjoying what they’re offering. If one of you habitually leads or follows, one way to shake things up is to switch roles and see what happens with a fresh dynamic.

Revel in the beauty along the way. Don’t rush to the big O. As long as time allows, savor every moment with your partner. Remember what it was like seeing them undress the first few times. Remember what it was like to hold each other naked when it was new. Even if you aren’t in the mood to go down memory lane, there are ways to slow down and savor. I once saw an article in a grocery store lady magazine (probably Cosmo or Glamour) that pointed to all the parts of sex that it’s easy to overlook if you’re focused on orgasm: from the moment of penetration to the pleasurable plateau that precedes orgasm—the more your mentality is about absorbing and enjoying the whole experience from start to finish, the more enjoyable it will be.

The flip side: Quickies can be really hot. ;)

A note about gender in this article: this article is written from the perspective of a cis-gender, heterosexual female, since that’s the only perspective from which I can knowingly write. I find the gender binary is useful here in teasing out the differences created by the hormones men and women have in their bodies. That said, I hope these tips will be relatable to anyone anywhere on the gender spectrum.

Photo by Sara Slattery

Photo by Sara Slattery

Sex

When a Sexy Secret is Not So Sexy

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I’m a virgin.

There—it’s out there. Shocking that it might seem so shocking, but whenever the topic of sex comes up, somehow the most intriguing thing isn’t who did what where but that I’ve never done it anywhere.

People often say I don’t act like a virgin. What does that entail exactly? Should I faint when I see a bare chest? Or maybe I should just recline on the edge of an active volcano and await the villagers?

When my virginity comes up, it has to be analyzed extensively. The easy solution would be to not bring it up, but when I’m at a bachelorette party or casual social gathering and people are divulging intimate details and asking me to respond in kind with my sexual exploits, I’m candid about the fact that I don’t have any. Lying about my sexual activities would mean I’m ashamed of not having them. I’m not.

I was raised knowing sex is fun and babies are great, but if you’re not willing to raise a kid with a dude, maybe you should hold off.

Very few of my peers are virgins, and those who are seem to have the same obstacles navigating the chaste path. Their reasons are their own, but the obstacles we face in today’s sexually candid society are similar. We’re often asked if we’re religious fanatics. When do we actively decide it’s time to lose it? Are we waiting for marriage? People sometimes expect sex when they’re not seriously dating, so should we tell a guy at the “talking” stage before we get to the “not seriously dating” stage?

At the end of the day, I’m a virgin because I’ve never loved someone romantically—call me naïve but my first time should be with someone I love and trust. And even though I don’t exude the virginal aura, persona, scent that I apparently should, people become very invested in my virginity and when I will lose it.

Dating can be tricky. You’ll hear people say they have the five-date rule or the ninety-day probationary period. All I can think is once I become sexually active, I’ll probably stay that way. So if I keep to the three-month rule and don’t get married, I could have 102 sexual partners by the time I’m 50. I’m just personally not comfortable with that calculation, so ninety days isn’t going to cut it for me.

When I’m interested in someone, I bring up the issue early on. In my first few quasi-relationships (repeat dates that did not lead to exclusive or long relationships), I didn’t bring it up until they did. One said I had insecurities I needed to deal with. One asked how long I expected him to wait. Now I bring it up early, and if it’s a deal breaker or the man shows anything besides respect, I move on—no harm, no foul. I’d like to say I don’t obsess over it, but I do. When you’re enjoying a flirty relationship with someone and know this may be something that they won’t be able to adjust to, it’s uncomfortable; and if it turns out to be an issue, it’s upsetting. But I’ve discovered that not all guys act like the first few did, and I’ve actually been privileged to date a few men who not only showed the utmost respect for my boundaries but also didn’t feel the need to continuously check in to see if I was ready or not.

While dating poses its challenges, the greater obstacles I face are actually from my friends. All my close friends are invested in my sexual status in some way, either trying to sexually liberate me or protect me from the predators I’ll undoubtedly date.

Maybe they’re confused because my sense of humor is more than slightly vulgar: I make sexually explicit comments and gestures; I tease and play. This somehow leads some of my friends to conclude that I need to get laid. When I point out that they are just as vulgar and sexually explicit as I am, and they are getting laid, I’m told it’s “different” and I’ll understand when I’m getting some. News flash: virgins can still discern hypocrisy. They may be right—maybe I’ll mellow out after my first sexual encounter—but I doubt it. Either way, I’ve learned to take it on the chin.

On the other side of the friend spectrum, there are the friends who all want to know if the person I’m currently dating is being respectful and not pressuring me. They offer their words of advice and urge me to wait. Some tell me about their first time as a cautionary tale. What will these friends say if I get sick of waiting for love and one day decide that I want to have a slightly reckless, future-cautionary-tale first time? I know it’s because they care, so what can I do but reassure them that I can handle the situation.

Our society seems progressive concerning sex, with TV shows and movies perpetuating one-night stands or casual sex, while critiquing those that deviate from whatever the norm is in media like TLC’s “Virgin Diaries.” So how do virgins navigate a culture that seems to look down on their entire life experience because they lack one experience? When I think about who I am and what makes me me, “virgin” never makes the list. Yet when attempting to cultivate a relationship I hope will last the rest of my life, it’s the one facet of my identity that those around me and, admittedly, even I get caught up on.

Photo by Rob Adams

Photo by Rob Adams

Sex

We Don’t Know: I’m Gay, So When Did I Lose My Virginity?

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“Can we get rid of the term virginity? Because it’s basically bullshit.” – Laci Green on the history of “virginity,” the misconceptions around hymens, and your “sexual debut.” 

We’re talking a lot about “first times” and virginity this week, but what does “virginity” mean to lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer individuals? We started asking some members of the UE community about their first times and soon realized that this wasn’t going to be a Let’s Ask. Because, clearly, We Don’t Know:

What do you consider your “first time”?

“The first time we were both naked.”
“The first time there was some type of penetration.”
“The first time it felt like a mutual event, rather than a foreplay type situation.”
“The first time I orgasmed in front of someone else.”
“The first time I had butt sex.”
“The first time genitals were touching with eye contact.”
“The first time I enjoyed it.”
“I haven’t felt the need to define it.”
“A pre-planned date we had both chosen.”

Some people consider the act of lesbian sex to be having oral sex: do you?

“I don’t understand why ‘lesbian virginity’ is third base? Then again, I have no idea what home plate is either.”
“That doesn’t make sense to me. So many couples do so many different things.”
“I don’t like giving or getting head, but I love having sex.”

A lot of people consider the act of gay sex to be anal sex: do you?

“I do. But it isn’t for everyone! I have friends who have been together for years and aren’t into penetration.”
From a ‘Dear Alice’ on Go Ask Alice: “All gays do not engage in anal sex. I know many men who prefer not to engage in this sex act. I don’t think enjoying anal sex is synonymous with homosexuality. This might comfort some of the straight men who write you and say they enjoy anal stimulation. I believe being gay is about having emotional relationships with men and not necessarily about the type of sex acts one engages in.”

If you’ve had straight sex, do you consider that your first time?

“I did at the time, but I do not now.”
“Yes.”
“Yes, but then I also had a ‘gay first time.’”
“Sometimes I think, ‘Technically, I guess I’m still a virgin, because I’ve never had straight sex.’ But I have sex all the time, so I don’t really know.”

We’d love to hear your thoughts!

Photo by Meaghan Morrison

Relationships, Sex

I Had Casual Sex With My Roommate

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There was a brief period in college where I was having what might have been seen as a sordid affair with a good friend. It was great. We were part of a big group of people who all worked together, and were all attached at the hip. Weekend trips to the beach, late night drunken karaoke sessions. I would find myself belting the lyrics of Moulin Rouge’s most soulful duet from the sunroof of a car with an Oreo shake from Jack in the Box in my hand and my friends leaning out the windows singing backup. And, as if eating poorly and consuming trash media weren’t enough, I decided to add what would eventually become an emotionally disastrous relationship to the mix.

I honestly don’t even really remember how it started, but a few nights a week the two of us would find ourselves alone, in one of our rooms, and things would get steamier from there. At first, it was fabulous. The best part about this “affair” was that it was so casual. There was literally nothing beyond hooking up, and after the terrible breakup I had just gone through it was such a relief to have something easy with a friend I trusted so much. There wasn’t any interest in dating, so we could dispense with the awkward so-what’s-your-middle-name conversations. Hell, we already knew all those things about each other.

Come spring quarter, our entire group was moving off-campus and we were all deciding where to live. A piece of our little group organized itself and signed a lease on a fantastic party house off the main drag and got excited about a whole year of playing and dancing and late-night heart-to-hearts. This friend and I, still in the midst of our precarious relationship, found ourselves staring down a twelve-month lease. But we trusted each other, and were really enjoying our rendezvous. Wouldn’t it have been smart to take it a little easy once that lease was signed?

Because, as it does, the other shoe dropped on me. My friend-with-benefits met and fell in love with someone. Which, under any normal circumstances, I would have been absolutely thrilled about. In fact, I was thrilled, except for two tiny details, which ended up having not-so-wonderful effects. First, I was not actually told that things had changed in our arrangement until things were already underway with this other girl (which made me feel not totally valuable and as if I was being kept on the line just in case). Second, I didn’t get to choose. I felt like I was being broken up with when the whole point was that we weren’t dating. Oh, and bonus: she had the same name as me.

I must say, I may not have handled this situation perfectly. My entire feeling was, essentially, “Who the fuck are you to go and date someone else with the same goddamn name?” Really helpful, trust me. But I felt like I had been blown off. It is not very productive to dwell on feeling worthless. And then to have to spend months listening to her moan from their room (oh, the thin walls), and watch their stupid fights… I wasn’t envious of their relationship, I just hated having been rejected. I hated that I was second string. I hated that I was the one who didn’t get to decide when it was over (control freak, much?). I never said anything about this to any of my friends, benefits or otherwise, because our relationship was never more than physical: I never felt like it was my place to explore what had happened. I think things would have been better off if I had allowed myself the space to really work things out. Instead, I stayed angry for the entire year.

This wasn’t jealousy. By then, I was dating someone else, but unfortunately I’m not exactly the type to let bygones be bygones. Tiny forgivable offenses like not cleaning up the dishes turned into character flaws and major issues. I was hypersensitive about everything, and I played a major part in dividing the house. Because we were living together, there was no space to cool off, no opportunities to stop picking at the wound. Our friendship never really recovered.

All in all, the actual sexy-times part of this lasted about a month, maybe, but the effects were long-lasting: four years out, I don’t really keep in contact with this friend even though I am still very close with my other roommates.  I really regret not maintaining that friendship, and the fallout from our not-actual-break-up-break-up. In the moment, there were really no downsides. We knew each other well, trusted one another, and could have a really good time. It was exciting and fun and we could ignore all the cliffs we were skirting. Until, of course, we teetered over the edge. Afterwards, it was all downsides. Awkwardness, uncomfortable feelings within our friend group, heightened tensions around quotidian issues.

Would I do it again? Probably. But this time around I would add a little more sunlight into the equation, and work harder to make things less awkward once it was all over. I would let go of my pride, and be open about how I was feeling. And maybe not sign a lease together.

Photo by Sara Slattery

Sex

Let’s Ask: Lies My Mother Told Me About the Birds and the Bees

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My mother is a pretty awesome human being by all accounts. It’s important that I make sure all of you know this. She’s been through a lot of crazy, tough stuff over the years and has clawed her way to the other side like a fucking grizzly bear. But what she did not do was prepare me in any way, shape, or form to have any semblance of a functional adult sex life.

All the sex “advice” my mom ever gave me had but one simple through-line, one motive: to convince me to never even think about having sex. EVER. For any reason. To instill in me a crippling fear of the anatomy of the opposite sex. “I’ve been there. I was a teenager in the 70s, okay?” And I had to believe her, how could I not? Now, to be fair, most of these pearls of wisdom were handed down to me when I was only about 10 years old, the year my mom awkwardly left the “What’s Happening To My Body?” book on my pillow and never spoke of it. So… maybe the whole G-rated fright-fest makes sense. But a G-rated lie is still a lie!

“Sex hurts. It’s not fun for girls, only for boys. Girls who tell you they like having sex are sluts who are just trying to make you feel uncool.”

Yikes. Way to make sure I’d grow up to be a total bitch ice queen with ZERO friends, Mom. And what exactly was I supposed to think of myself, the day I had sex and realized that I liked it? Was I, too, a slut? Are we all sluts? What’s the meaning of life? Are we alone in the universe? These are the questions.

“If you give him the milk for free, why should he buy the cow?”

Thanks, Mom, now you’re calling me a cow, too? I think this one is fairly common, textbook advice for girls. It’s also fairly ridiculous. I know plenty of people whose stable, happy relationships were borne of a random, sexy encounter one random, sexy night. The act of having the sex you want when you want it doesn’t hold the same cultural weight that it might have years ago. Guys don’t typically “lose respect” for girls if they “put out” right away. Also, can we as a generation sign some sort of pledge to do away with the phrase “put out?” It’s so dated, so very look-at-me-I’m-Sandra-Dee. It sounds so dirty, too: Put. Out. She puts it out there, guys. It. Her vagina. Shudder.

Anyway. I fully support a lady waiting a little while to sleep with a guy she’s just started dating, so she can get to know him better and make sure he’s a solid choice. But that’s different. That’s not a decision made out of fear because you’re worried he won’t respect you anymore if you do the deed. And if that fear turns out to be true, that he does lose respect for you after you sleep together, then this guy might actually be the worst. So… good riddance.

“Ten minutes of good sex is not worth the pain of childbirth.”

Because obviously every time a person has sex it automatically results in a baby being born nine months later. OBVIOUSLY. I don’t doubt that having a baby hurts like the dickens, but that’s kind of neither here nor there. Because of this, for the longest time, I thought that people’s parents only had sex the day they decided they wanted a baby. The concept of birth control didn’t really factor into this discussion until I was several years older, and I already knew what it was thanks to my friends who had courageously bought condoms and put them on bananas at a sleepover.

“Having sex is worse than saying the worst swear word you can think of.”

So… the F word? Wait. Is this what a conundrum feels like? I am ten years old and my brain just imploded. This might be my self-destruct code. Send help.

“You’re not allowed to get married if you’ve already had sex with someone else.”

It’s worth mentioning that my family was not very religious. We were the swing-by-church-on-Easter-and-Christmas variety of Catholics. But for some reason, my mom would rev up the Pope-mobile whenever it came to the subject of pre-marital sex. You didn’t do it. Period. Those were the rules—God’s rules. You can’t break God’s rules because he’s definitely gonna hear about it, being God and all. And that’s not necessarily uncommon: a lot of parents tell their kids that they shouldn’t have sex until they’re good and hitched. But my twisted, 10-year-old mind took this warning to a whole new, disturbing level by assuming that a doctor had to examine you and give you a certificate of “Nope, Never Done It!” before you could walk down the aisle. And the worst part? When I asked my mom whether or not this pre-marital medical exam actually existed, she said yes.

“Penises are really ugly.”

Well… okay, fine. I’ll give you this one, Mom. I’m glad I was prepared.

Photo by Meaghan Morrison

Sex

My First Time Was With a Paraplegic

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I was lucky, in many ways, with how my V-card was punched. My mother had a fairly liberal non-shaming outlook when it came to sex, and her only advice was “Find someone who you trust and care about. It’s a big deal.” I took that advice to heart. I also valued honesty, which is why one day I walked into my kitchen to get a snack, looked at my mom, and said thoughtfully, “Hey mom? I don’t think I’m going to wait until I’m married to have sex.” She looked back at me and said, “Oh. Okay.” And I waltzed back into my room with my orange or crackers or whatever snack I had decided the moment warranted.

I’ll call the lucky recipient of my virginity “C.” I met C in high school when I was 16. He was four years older than me. He was funny, cute, fun to be around, and he had his own place… directly next door to his parents. Looking back, there were a lot of problems with the relationship, which really should have been obvious considering that he was 20 and stoked to be dating a 16-year-old.

Of course, none of that was obvious to a high schooler. I felt awesome and sophisticated to be hanging out with this guy and his cool, old friends! But I was fairly well-balanced and had a decent sense of self-esteem. I made it clear to him that I was a virgin and if he was expecting anything from me right away, he was going to be disappointed. To his credit, he took it very well and assured me that he was ok with waiting.

About five months into the relationship, we started having problems. He claimed that he was in love with me. I cared about him, and I wanted it to work, but I hesitated to call it love just yet. There were some other issues as well and I was unsure about him.

Until, one day, I got a call from one of his friends. C had been in a car accident, thrown from the car, and landed on a pipe in the industrial area of our town. He had some severe burns on his stomach and had broken his spinal cord in two places.

According to my mother, the minute she heard this she knew—due to my caretaker tendencies—that he and I were going to be together for a long time after that. Which, to my mom, wasn’t necessarily good news. But she kept her opinions to herself and, after weeks of waiting for him to be able to receive visitors, she gave me a ride to the hospital.

That first visit was fairly traumatizing. His throat had closed due to irritation from the weeks he had been on a breathing tube and they had done a tracheostomy so that he could breathe. Because of the hole in his throat, he couldn’t talk. He could only mouth words. He had skin grafts on his abdomen and scars from the spinal cord operation. Both he and I knew that he would probably never walk again. And on that visit, he asked me to marry him.

What else could I say? I was a scared teenager looking at my boyfriend in a hospital bed, who was waiting for me to answer a question that he couldn’t actually ask, he had to mouth it. So I said yes.

I waited a few weeks to visit him again, until after he got the trach out. Once he did, we talked about the “whole marriage thing” a while more and agreed it would be best to get me a “promise” ring and call it that for the time being. After that, I accompanied him to physical therapy and visited him regularly until he got out, and for a while, sex was a non-issue. He had other things going on with his body to think about.

I found out later that, while he was in the hospital, he attended what was essentially a “Sexuality for the Disabled” seminar, and had learned a lot. He could, indeed, still have sex and enjoy sexual feelings. He told me some of what he learned. I was glad to hear it, but we still hadn’t “gone all the way” yet and I thought we still had a while before we would have to deal with it.

He moved back home, and that’s when the pressure started. Before, when he was able-bodied, he didn’t mind waiting. Now, he felt any resistance from me was an indication of hidden repulsion. While that was untrue, I will admit that having sex now gave me more pause than before because I simply didn’t know how it would work. But, by now, I had very deep feelings for this man. I wanted to show him I cared about him, and that he and I could live and love in a normal way. And I weighed it: did I care for him? Did I trust him? The answer to both was yes. So, one night, about a year after we first started dating, and after I had turned 17, we had sex.

I told him I was ready that night, but just getting things going was an adventure in itself. I had touched him before, but that was all prior to the accident. He was numb from just below the breastbone down. I was very nervous because I wasn’t sure his body would even respond to me. It turns out, in his case, he could achieve an erection fairly easily in response to manual or oral stimulation. He couldn’t feel it, really. He could feel some slight tingling but he couldn’t really pinpoint where. It was a relief and at the same time it made me even more nervous because it meant I would actually be having sex that night, for the very first time. That was the moment where it became real.

I remember we had to do cowgirl position. I remember it didn’t seem to hurt at all. I wasn’t too surprised by this, since I danced and had been using tampons for a while now, but I still expected it to hurt or bleed or something. I had to provide all of the movement, which felt really awkward because I’d never done it before. How does a girl “thrust” when she has nothing to thrust with? I remember it just kind of…stopped, with no actual finish. And I remember I cried. I was only a little embarrassed to cry. He handled it well, and held me close. I had told him many times what a big deal this was to me, so it just felt natural to let the emotions out. I was very confused, because sex with C was so different from anything I had ever heard it or expected it to be, but I felt safe.

We dated for two more years after that. Our sex life progressed through a lot of experimentation. Among my friends, there was always a lot of curiosity about how we had sex. I was always glad to share (and am still) that there are many ways to have a fulfilling sex life in a relationship where one person is disabled. For example, the spot on C’s abdomen directly ABOVE where he stopped having sensation was actually ultra-sensitive. I would drive him crazy (in the good way) by gently running my fingernails over the area. Our options for positions were limited, but it was fun to think of new ones. He was unable to achieve physical orgasm, which is a loss he mourned, but he claimed he had had a “mental” one a couple of times. His erections never lasted very long but they were easily achieved again so it wasn’t a big deal. The sexual experience is going to differ infinitely between different injuries and disabilities. I can only share our own experience.

Our relationship ended on a difficult note, but I still say I’m very lucky with how I began my sexual life. He ultimately wasn’t the right person for me, but I am still very comfortable with how long I waited and the age at which I had sex. I’m glad it was with someone I cared about, and I’m glad it happened under sort of unusual circumstances. It made me more open-minded, more experimental, and since both he and I were, in a way, discovering our new sexuality at the same time, it meant that I was confident enough to figure out what I liked and ask for it, since he was doing the same with me.

I get a lot of raised eyebrows when I say the words, “I lost it to a man in a wheelchair,” but I want people to know that sex is a diverse, multifaceted, and often beautiful thing. I hope after I tell the story, people think about sex through a slightly wider and more colorful lens.

Photo by Remi Coin

Photo by Remi Coin