If I was to describe the current condition of my sexual and romantic life I, would describe it as pretty consistent and rather delightful. I’m quite fond of both the excitement that I experience when developing a new liaison, as well as the calm comfortable connection that I feel with a partner that I’ve already been sleeping with for a while. I’ve also grown to become better at coping with the hardship of heartbreak, which has helped me in recent months to be a little more courageous in my endeavours than I‘d otherwise be. After leaving a rather long-term relationship earlier last year I have come to identify mostly as a non-hierarchical polyamorous person, or an ethical slut as Dossie Easton would say. These terms try to give words to my experience that is characterised by me enjoying sex and relationships to quite an extent, while I’m also trying my very best not to be a dick about it. So in conclusion: I’m really relaxed around sex and have grown to enjoy experimenting with it the more I’ve had it.
Pretty weird to hear that from me so openly huh? I’ve been thinking for a while about writing this article but was unsure whether I’d be brave enough to publish it with my name. I knew that I wanted to talk about my insights on sex and about the larger culture that I am part of, but I have always been a little fearful of broadcasting my desire all too much and making myself a little too vulnerable. After all I’m a child of the culture that I’ve grown up in and have internalised a lot of ideas from society about the ways that I am supposed to embody my sexuality. However, this is I suppose where a big problem lies. Many of us have sex or want to have it, but from my experience we are a little squeamish about owning this by talking about it and sharing our experiences in non-flowery and actually helpful way. Why is this problematic? Because it hinders us to develop the skills to navigate our desires, to learn more clearly about our boundaries and needs, to lose the shame and superficial knowledge around sex that we’ve collected over the years. In other words, not embracing our personal reality of sex in a honest and vulnerable way may hinder us to develop a positivity towards sex that is so desperately needed if we want to have healthy sex lives and encourage the people around us to do so too.
I want to start this exploration of my experience of sex and sexuality with a small disclaimer: I am very well aware of the fact that there are loads of people who do not have sex. This article is intended to be for them too. There is this illusion that young people in their twenties are supposed to be on this intense ride of sexual self-discovery full of casual hook-ups and multiple partners. But this does not reflect the reality of me and my friends’ experiences all too accurately. Many of my friends have rather little sex (and I used to too before I became a slut), and there is nothing wrong with that. Some people are too busy with studying to even think about it, some are waiting for the right person with whom things will feel as comfortable as they should, some prefer porn over the messiness that is getting naked with a living, feeling, other person who might have expectations and the sorts. Additionally some people simply are not interested in sex or relationships, being asexual or aromantic are sexualities that we unfortunately acknowledge way too rarely in our culture where coupledom and sex are idealised.
The myth that everybody has spectacular amounts of sex is moreover not reflected in quantitative research into the topic. Rachel Hills (who has written a great book about the topic of the sex lives of twenty-somethings) highlights in this regard that a representative study in the US has shown that the most common number of sex partners for 18- 23 year olds in one year is one person (39.1% of men and 49.7% of women), closely followed by 0 sexual partners (24 % of men and 22.6% of women). So if we talk about sex and sex positivity we also have to acknowledge the lack of sex people in everyday life have, and create the space that embraces the different ways that sex may influence our lives.
Back to me now. Since becoming single a year ago it took me a bit to find my own space within which I could navigate my own sexuality in the light of a perceived culture of casual hook-ups and tinder, and considering my own fear of abandonment and insecurities around my own self-worth. But despite of the infrequent hiccups of drama in my life, I’ve finally come out of this process with a decent amount of insight. In this regard I want to share my experiences and thoughts.
One of the most important things that I have learned relating to sex, regards how I view myself in the light of my sex life. For the longest time I’ve held on to ideas of what kind of sex I was supposed to have. When I didn’t have sex, I thought I was supposed to have sex that included more people than just me. After I wasn’t in a relationship anymore, I thought I should have sex in monogamous contexts where feelings necessarily needed to be present (I can imagine that others also experience pressures to have more sex, be kinkier, or to have multiple partners). Summarised, these views reflect an inversion of Oscar Wilde’s observation: “Sex is about everything except for sex.” There is a great deal of clinging on to the identities that we construct around the ways that we have sex. To be clear, there is nothing wrong with sincerely exploring our own preferences and likings. However, I learned for myself that I have to be weary of the instances where holding on too tightly to how I am supposed to be, hinders me from truly connecting to what happens in the present moment, hindering me from connecting with my most immediate needs. In this regard then sex positivity means for me to let go of the normative power of the words with which I frame my experiences. Words like prudish, kinky, inexperienced or slutty can both be sources of great empowerment as well as great shame and we need to be conscious of the ways that we allow these words to limit us.
Moreover, next to letting our egos over-determine the meaning of the sex that we have, there is also the problem of connecting sincerely with our partners. In my head these two conundrums are reasonably interrelated and work in similar ways. I for myself have had instances where I slept with people as a mean to stroke my own ego, losing in the process the ability to see the other in their full complexity. Similarly to the way that we aim to hold on tightly to the way that we ourselves are supposed to relate to our sexuality, we tend to also develop expectations in the ways that our partners are supposed to be once we engage with them romantically or sexually (and also just generally). These expectations create distance, hinder us to appreciate the other despite of their flaws and to create the intimacy that so many of us crave.
This is not to say “everything goes” when it comes to relationships. Our wishes to be treated in a certain way are absolutely valid. This is particularly a lesson I had to learn in regards to casual hook-ups on Tinder. Even if it’s not a long term thing and both of us want to keep it “suuper cas’” both of us still have the right to be treated decently and are allowed to voice our concerns if either feels disrespected or end things if there is no considerable change (check out in this regard the relationship bill of rights by Franklin Veaux and Eve Rickert, they highlight all the basic rights we should be allowed to demand from our partners).
However, there is a difference between having boundaries and manipulating the other person into disrespecting their own boundaries (for more information Brute Reason’s article called “Are All Boundaries Valid?” is a great resource). Warsan Shire notes in one of her poems that “ we emotionally manipulated each other until we thought it was love”. I do not think that this is a great way of approaching relationships. It’s a very hard pill to swallow, but sometimes things are just not the way that they should be and the other person is not able to meet your needs. Clinging on to an idealised version of how things were if everything was different, without owning our own decisions and the boundaries of the other person, are very understandable sentiments but also a little imbecile. The only thing we can try is to connect sincerely with our partners in this very moment, celebrating the moments where life is sweet, and growing from the moments where life is bitter. I for myself have learned that being heartbroken and getting more comfortable in that feeling has helped me to be less afraid of trying again and again to connect with people, for I know that even if I run against a wall it will be survivable and worth so much more than not trying and growing at all.
Lastly, I think that if we talk about the culture that surrounds sex we have to go beyond the things that go on in our own heads and the way that we relate to our partners. In this regard it is important to mention the way that we talk about sex with our friends, the way that these conversations can be harmful or empowering depending on the circumstances. Since starting to talk more openly about my romantic and sexual endeavours I realised a bit of a change in conversations I had. Sometimes I felt judged. Sometimes I felt shameful. I understand that some people want to keep the private private, that they are uncomfortable with the vulnerability of talking about sex or find it awkward, that they have their own boundaries in what they are comfortable hearing and disclosing. These reasons are valid. However, I would love for all of us to challenge ourselves to take some steps towards being more empathetic towards the plurality of experiences of sex, to maybe find a little of comfortability in what seems initially uncomfortable. That we try to create a space where all of the kinksters, and virgins, and sluts, and those who have experienced abuse, and those who are pretty vanilla, and those who are demi-sexual, asexual, queer, or poly can come together and embrace the plethora of different experiences and preferences. And let’s just be a little awkward and embrace the delicious ambiguity.
By Sophie Schulz
The Bell 